


What Happens In 221C Stays In 221C

by henley_sarah



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awesome Mrs. Hudson, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fucked Up, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, Mild Kink, Minor Original Character(s), Multiple Sex Positions, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft's Meddling, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Female Character, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Philip Anderson Being an Idiot, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Sex, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock is a Brat, Spoilers, Squirting, Tags Contain Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Sherlock, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-07-06 23:46:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 47,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15896589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henley_sarah/pseuds/henley_sarah
Summary: "He hasn't said anything to you, has he?" John asked."Uh, not yet, at least." I gave him an odd look."Good. Let's go before she punches you for speaking..." John said."Why would I do that?" I couldn't help but ask.The two just turned to look at me, and Sherlock gave a wide smile, then extended his hand to me."Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."





	1. Chapter 1

I stepped out of the cab, double checking the address before paying the cabbie. I adjusted my skirt as I watched up to the door, and brushed my hair over my shoulder to try and look a little more decent.

I knocked and a moment later, an older woman opened the door, and I smiled kindly at her. "Can I help you?"

"Hi. Um, are you the landlady? I'm here to look at two two one C?" I asked, and she looked surprised.

"Oh, come on in." She backed up, and I stepped in, and she lead me downstairs to the basement. "I usually can't get anyone interested in this flat. I suspect it's because of the mold." She unlocked a door and I stepped into a very empty room, some black creeping up faded white walls.

"I can fix the mold problem easily..." I hummed and went to check out the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. I pulled out my phone to check the signal and was quite pleased to find it was pretty strong for being in a basement. I checked the WiFi signal as well and was pleased to see that was strong, too.

"If you're really interested, the rent for this flat is cheaper than the other two." She said.

"Well, no complaints there." I smiled, slipping my phone back into my bag. "Well, where do I sign?"

The woman, whose name I learned to be Mrs. Hudson, set me all up with paperwork, and after signing, I decided to not waste a moment and get to work removing and preventing mold.

I had my stuff waiting at my friend's flat, where I was crashing for now, and I went to get a bunch of tarps, painter's tape, waterproof paint, and loads of hydrogen peroxide. I also got a couple face masks so I wouldn't poison myself.

I brought all that shit in, changed into old jeans, boots, and a T-shirt tied my hair up, plugged my earbuds in, put on a mask, and began cleaning away the black mold with hydrogen peroxide.

I eventually had to open a window for the strong chemical smell, but it was getting the job done nicely. It was only afternoon when I finished, and I decided I could start painting in the bedroom, get one coat done today, do another tomorrow, the kitchen and bathroom tomorrow, and leave the living room, which was the biggest, for last.

I lied down tarps all over the floor and taped everything that I could. I set the paint buckets in their respective rooms by color. I chose a light teal with gray undertones for the living room, a pastel lilac for my bedroom, and ivory for the kitchen and bathroom.

I found I actually really liked painting the walls and danced around a little to the music playing in my ears as I did so.

When I finished, it was nighttime, and I decided to call it a day there. So I prepared everything for tomorrow, shut the window, locked up, and stopped for a fast food dinner on the way to my friend's place.

The next two days were practically the same, and I was so pleased when I finally finished with the living room. I left early and went to relax on my friend's couch, researching where to get furniture at low prices. The flat came with a bed frame and mattress, but that was sort of it. And I think I was going to throw the mattress away because God knows how old that thing was.

So I did research for that and a company that helped people move in. I dressed decently once more the next day and took my ass shopping.

I went to one store that had practically everything I needed furniture-wise. I got myself a deep blue sofa, some tawny armchairs, a glass and black-rimmed coffee table, a big ass dresser, giant ass vanity (because I was a vain bitch), nightstands, and some stools for the kitchen. I then remembered that kitchen appliances existed as well. I pursed my lips as I called up the moving company to come to get my shit and take it to my flat, and made plans to call up my rich old grandma to suck up and get some money out of her.

The giant men that came and loaded my stuff into their moving truck were very nice, and when they unloaded into 221C and placed things where I asked, there were just manners flying everywhere. I paid them and tipped heavily with a smile, and went in, and fell onto the couch with my phone, groaning as I dialed her number, but put on a smile so I sounded sweeter.

It didn't take but a few sentences for her to agree to wire me money, and I thanked her a bunch of times and even added an 'I love you,' something I never say to family. I checked my bank balance and saw it was back to its former glory with many digits.

I soon made a checklist of getting a mattress, fridge, oven, and microwave, and some other homey shit like lamps, blankets, pillows, a TV, and whatever.

That was the next day, and I double and triple checked that everything was how I wanted it before I brought my personal shit over.

That took not nearly as much time to put away all the clothes, shoes, makeup, books, DVDs and shit. I sat on the couch with a deep, relieved sigh, and I was so fucking proud of myself.

It was too bad this feeling wouldn't last.


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Hudson came over to check it out, and she gave a delighted squeal and clapped her hands just at my living room.

"Oh, it's so attractive! Much better than the boy's upstairs." She then turned to me. "They spray painted on my wallpaper, and one of them keeps shooting the walls." She huffed, and my eyes widened.

"So, you're done?" She smiled at me.

"I still have to buy groceries. And I'm considering maybe getting some plants? I don't know yet." I shrugged. "I'm not really a plant person."

"Well, it looks wonderful, plants or not." She touched my arm, making me smile.

She soon let me be, and I checked my reflection in a mirror I had hung in the living room, and grabbed my bag and locked up before I left to get groceries, paying careful attention to the list on my phone.

My eating habits were fucked. Shit, my health was fucked overall. I got basic shit like bread, peanut butter, jelly, milk, cereal, butter, sugar, eggs, cheese, some seasonings, chips... then my personalized groceries. Bags of frozen chicken nuggets, frozen pre-made burgers, fries, boxes of tea, and tubs of premium ice cream.

It was a little struggle getting all of it into the flat, but a blonde older man who was a little shorter than me helped as he grabbed some bags and brought them in my flat.

"Hi. Uh, I'm John. I'm upstairs in two two one B." He smiled at me, and I put one on as well.

"Briar, nice to meet you. And thank you so much with the groceries." I sighed thankfully.

"It's no problem. Wow. You have... done something with the place." He looked around in amazement as I started putting things away.

"Did you see it before? Ugh." I stuck my tongue out, and he chuckled.

"No, yeah, I remember. It looks great. You've completely changed it." He nodded.

"Thanks." I smiled. "So, uh, what do you do, John?" I asked, trying to remember how people made conversation.

"Me? I'm a doctor over at St. Bart's. What about you?" He asked.

"Transcriber." I nodded. "I sit and type out court cases word for word."

"Sounds tedious." He hummed.

"Not if you're a fast typer." I shrugged with a little smile.

"Have you somehow managed to avoid carpal tunnel syndrome?" He asked, and I chuckled a little, sorting the tea boxes before putting them in a cabinet.

"Yes. Having padding on the wrists helps, and also taking numerous breaks to stretch them out." I nodded and he nodded as well.

"Ah, just remembered. There are people coming in and out of our flat all day for me and my flatmate, Sherlock. So, sorry about the constant footsteps." John said.

"It's fine. I probably won't hear them anyway. I play music basically twenty-four seven." I shook my head. "Which, by the way, if I ever play too loud, just knock and tell me to shut the fuck up." I smiled and John chuckled at me.

"I doubt we'll hear a thing two floors up." He said and I shrugged.

He soon left with a 'nice meeting you,' and I finished putting groceries away. I meant to buy a shit ton of soda, but that would've been way too much to carry. So I'll just have to deal with tea for a while.

I made myself a huge pot and put in one of my favorite shows first season in my TV to watch as a sort of reward for getting shit done. Some episodes in, I made food, and I watched until the early hours of the morning where I started to get tired. I cleaned up some, turned the TV off, and trudged to my room. I had some of the comfiest blankets that I passed out under after plugging my phone up to charge.

When I woke up, it was around noon, and I stayed in bed for a little while on my phone before I decided to get up. I cleaned my face and fixed my hair, and went to the kitchen, turning the TV back on in the living room to continue watching as I heated up a breakfast bowl with steak, potatoes, scrambled eggs, and cheese, that I added more cheese to.

So I lied on the couch for a good while just watching the first season of that show, snacking here and there.

And that's how I spent most of my days. Wake up around nine or something, stay in bed until I get hungry, eat a little, work while lounging around, and snack throughout the day. I stop working when I feel like it, and I usually am either watching something, reading, or writing until around eight, when I take my pills and keep snacking until midnight or something, then I fall asleep and repeat. Though, some days I don't work at all. Some days I do nothing but work. It varies.

A good week and a half or so of this went uninterrupted. Keyword; uninterrupted.


	3. Chapter 3

I had just woken up and was making tea and eating a bowl of cereal as I waited for the water to heat up.

There was a knock at the door, and I looked down to check if I had pants on. Eh, there was a pair of track shorts under this huge ass hoodie. Good enough.

I opened the door to a tall, slender man with black curls. He had the highest cupid's bow I'd ever seen, and the sharpest cheekbones, too.

"Morning. Can I help you?" I asked, and he opened his mouth but was cut off by John coming down the stairs, telling him to shut up. We both turned to look at him, and he gave a look to the dark haired man, who I assumed to be Sherlock.

"Morning, Briar. He hasn't said anything to you, has he?" John asked.

"Uh, not yet, at least." I gave him an odd look.

"Good. Let's go before she punches you for speaking..." John said.

"Why would I do that?" I couldn't help but ask.

The two just turned to look at me, and Sherlock gave a wide smile, then extended his hand to me.

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective." He said and I shook his hand with a little smile to be polite.

"He does this thing called deducing, it's like reading a person. Only thing is, he doesn't know when not to and when to shut up." John said, and I tilted my head slightly.

"Reading a person?" I questioned, no idea what he meant.

"It's very nearly exactly what it sounds like," Sherlock said, and I had to admit, I was intrigued.

"You two wanna come in? I have tea almost ready." I offered.

"Sounds lovely, thank you." Sherlock gave me a smile and walked in, and John followed with a little sigh, giving me an apologetic smile.

I shut the door, going back in the kitchen, and the kettle was bubbling with an Irish blend tea, and I got three mugs down and unlatched the jar of sugar.

"How do you take it?" I asked, and they both said black, so I poured them both cups before making my own with two spoonfuls of sugar. I then turned to them after taking a sip, my bowl of cereal remaining on the counter.

"So, how do you 'read a person'?" I asked.

"It's just observations." Sherlock shook his head lightly, his curls bouncing a little. "It's not a magic trick like everyone seems to think it is."

"Alright. I'm curious, what do you observe about me, Sherlock?" I asked.

He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself as he studied me, his eyes flicking around me.

"Uh... you work from home, probably due to your social anxiety... no. Generalized Anxiety Disorder." He shook his head softly at himself and went back to looking at me. "Looking at the layout of just this room alone, seeing how everything is perfectly placed and parallel to something else, I would guess you're OCD as well..." He trailed off.

"But?" I asked.

"But nothing on your shelves is in any recognizable order. Not alphabetical, not color, not size." He said.

"DVDs have their own order, CD's are most to least favorite and books..." I hummed and we all looked at the many, many books I had. "Well, that's just too much work."

"Speaking of work, can I see your hands?" Sherlock asked, and I set my mug down and came around the counter, giving them to him.

"You work from home, but that's only on a computer. You don't do any actual work, and definitely not physical labor. I doubt you even did chores as a child. No, you just do what you want to, and that's it." He spoke quickly as he ran his thumbs down my palms.

He turned over my hands, hummed, then looked at me. "You care greatly about your appearance, even if not just to impress others. Must be torture for you to be in front of us with a bare face and your hair not done."

I had a confused look on, and he held my hands up. "You spend all of your time at home, and yet your nails are perfectly manicured. So it's definitely not to show off. I also may have gotten a peek at the vanity in your room." He shrugged, and I gave a small laugh.

"You got all that from my nails?" I asked, and shook my head slightly in disbelief. "Anything else?"

"I... I shouldn't." Sherlocked stopped himself once again, and my brows furrowed. "As John said, it'll probably end with you punching me."

I hummed lowly. "Do your worst."

Sherlock took a breath, staring right at me. "You don't have a good relationship with your family. Not your extended family, not even your immediate family. No pictures of them around, or anyone, really. Not many friends, either, I'd imagine. Maybe one or two close ones. You like to isolate yourself. Why is that?" He pursed his lips slightly, eyes searching mine.

"Is it because you believe you have an abusive personality, or that you're just toxic in general? Maybe it's your life habits that make you stay away from others. Maybe you think you're a burden on people's lives." He went on.

"Sherlock..." John warned.

"But let's look at the really dark stuff. The almost comically oversized hoodie? Large mugs but small bowls? The fact that you completely abandoned your breakfast when we came in-" He spoke a little lower, and I slipped one of my hands from his. Not to hit him, but instead to put it over his mouth and shut him up.

The place was dead silent for a moment before Sherlock removed my hand from his mouth. "John, you may want to take your leave." He said, not dropping our eye contact.

"Right... right." John just nodded and left, leaving the two of us be in my deadly quiet kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

It was silent for another moment or two, Sherlock still holding onto my hands, and I didn't even notice.

"So, how old were you?" He asked.

"What?" I asked softly.

"How old were you when you developed an eating disorder?"

"It's not an eating disorder." I shook my head.

"What is it, then?" He asked.

"I don't know. No one knows." I pressed my lips tight together. "It's not like I want to be this thin. I want to gain weight..." I sighed, not even knowing why I was explaining myself to him.

"But?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again with a sigh. "But nothing."

We were silent again, and Sherlock finally dropped my hands, and instead hugged me. I furrowed my brows in confusion, but let my arms settle around him as well.

"What a weird first meeting." He hummed against my shoulder sometime later, and I laughed a little as I felt his deep voice vibrate through me.

"I'm sure there's been weirder," I said, a bit happy that he tried to pick up the mood again.

"I'm sure it'll be hard to find weirder." I could almost hear Sherlock smiling. His arms slid from around my waist, and I let him go as well, though I was pretty comfortable with hugging him. And I usually hated touching people. Weird.

"I should get back before John thinks you've killed me." He said with a small smile. "Thanks for the tea, and uh, sorry."

I just smiled and shook my head. "It's okay." He left my flat, and I dumped the remains of their tea, then looked at my bowl of cereal. It was all soggy and gross now, so I dumped that down the garbage disposal, making sure to run water down so any remaining milk would wash away and not turn sour and start smelling.

I grabbed a bag of chips with my tea and went to the sofa to start working, playing an album on repeat for background noise as I did so.

My days went on as usual, and Sherlock usually ended up visiting me once a day or so. I grew comfortable eating around him, though it was usually just ice cream. I ate a lot of premium ice cream, not just because I like it, but also for all the fat and calories.

He tried to get me to eat more, and I deeply appreciated that he cared, but I had to explain that I would get sick if I tried to eat more, and I'd rather not risk throwing everything up.

Other than that, he really didn't focus on it, which I was thankful for. He just came over to chill, he didn't care if I was working, nor did he care if I played the same song for four hours straight on repeat just for noise. He was a pretty good friend, overall.

He liked to tease me about how I don't speak English, I speak American, and he mocked my accent and words. I didn't mind because I did the same right back at him. He usually kept a straight face, but I got to witness him pause and start laughing once I brought up tea and crumpets.

"Is that what you Americans really think of us? That all we do is drink tea and eat biscuits?" He asked.

"Yes." I nodded. "And since I've been here, there hasn't been much to convince me otherwise." I smiled wide as he pressed his lips together and sighed.

"Well, you haven't done much to convince me that not all Americans are lazy and just eat whatever they want." He shrugged.

"I mean..." I sighed, trying not to laugh myself.

Once we calmed, he sighed and just looked over at me.

"What's up?" I asked.

"John may have let slip to my brother about you." He said, biting his bottom lip a little.

"Is that bad?" I asked.

"If you two met, he would probably offer you money to spy on me." His sky blue eyes met mine.

"How much money?" I asked and Sherlock smiled a little.

"You'd take it?"

"If there is a hell, I'm definitely going for greed." I nodded, and he chuckled. "You don't seem too bothered by being spied on."

"He doesn't ask for details." Sherlock shrugged.

I then narrowed my eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because John didn't accept." He said, trailing his finger along an arm of an armchair. "He didn't think it through; we could've split the money."

I had to laugh at that. "Okay. Say he asks, and let's be real, I'll accept. How much do you want?"

"How much are you planning to ask for?" His eyes met mine again as I grinned.

"Millions." I hummed and his brows rose. "Or I at least want to let it build up to millions."

Sherlock hummed, his finger still trailing along. "I'll take... twenty percent."

"Alright." I agreed, actually expecting him to ask for more of a cut.

"I'm not as greedy as you, Briar." He gave me a tiny smile.

"Do you mind my greed?" I tilted my head.

"No," Sherlock hummed, shaking his head. "We're all sinners one way or another."

"What's your sin, then?" I asked, just out of curiosity.

Sherlock hummed again and let his head fall back as he thought. "Pride, probably."

"You don't seem that proud to me," I said as I watched.

"I used to think I wasn't, either. Then things got put into perspective for me." He sighed. "The way my brother puts it is that he and I live in a world of goldfish. He thinks that our intelligence puts us above everyone else. I used to think the same."

"But now you don't," I said, and he slowly nodded.

"There are other things that put some people above others. Like bravery, or compassion." He said, then his lips curled into a smile. "Human things."

"Disgusting," I commented with a smile, making Sherlock snicker.

"He isolates himself and thinks I'm the crazy one." He shook his head slowly, and all I could do was watch him quietly, curiously.


	5. Chapter 5

I was up all night planning on my laptop, so when there was loud knocking on my door, I wasn't exactly too eager to get up and open it.

"What?" I sighed, staring at John with narrowed eyes.

"Sherlock's in a mood, and I'm tired of dealing with him." He said, and I continued to stare.

"What am I supposed to do about that?" I asked in a monotone voice.

"Well, he's always laughing or something around you." John shrugged. "Just come up. Please?"

I sighed, hanging my head. "Gimme a few minutes."

"Thank you..." He started, but I closed the door and went to try and wake myself up.

I pulled on a pair of joggers with my T-shirt, made my hair not look like bed head, washed my face to wake me up, and slipped my phone in my pocket, not bothering to put shoes on, and walked up the two stories to their flat.

"What's up?" I sighed as I walked in, seeing Sherlock standing with his arms crossed at the window, John in a chair, and a man in a suit standing a few feet away from Sherlock.

"You woke her up?" Sherlock looked at John, and I just passed between them, going to sit in the other chair, putting my legs over the arm.

"Briar, talk some sense into Sherlock. He's acting like a child." John said, and I sighed.

"John, grow some balls," I said, closing my eyes.

"What-" He started.

"And who is this?" A posh accent asked and I peeked over at suit man.

"Briar." I nodded to him. "I don't usually look this dead, I swear."

"This is Mycroft, my brother." Sherlock said, his voice hard on 'Mycroft' and 'brother.'

I just hummed as he studied me. "Your social circle is still growing, I see. And now you've added an American to the list." Mycroft said, his tone changing when he said my country's name.

"Oh, say can you see... by the dawn's early light..." I began to sing, and he gave a small groan, which just encouraged me. "What so proudly we hail at the twilight's last gleaming..."

I only shut up after that line because Sherlock came over and put his hand over my mouth. I gave him a little annoyed look.

"I'd normally encourage you, but I don't want him bombing the flat. Or the United States." He said, and my brows furrowed. "Yes, he has that kind of power." Sherlock nodded like he read my mind.

They started talking again, and I zoned out. I mean, yeah, I was dead tired, but I was also focused on not biting him, though it was very tempting.

Mycroft soon left, saying he'd chat with me when I was awake, and John went to work, and Sherlock just didn't remove his hand from my mouth.

Instead, he gave me a look. "If you bite me, I'll only bite you back."

That just tempted me way too much, and I had a feeling he knew. I opened my mouth just a little, and his brow rose up at me, giving me a silent warning.

I didn't listen and just softly bit the skin on his finger. Actually, I'm not sure if it was really biting. I was more or less just holding it between my teeth. He could've easily pulled away if he wanted to.

Instead, he leaned down and surprised me by taking my earlobe between his teeth, and he tugged on it lightly.

I gasped, letting go of him to instead bite my lip, and felt his breath as he chuckled.

"Good?" He asked in a very low murmur, just for me, and I found myself nodding. "Good." He hummed and his hand fell from my mouth to my chin, tilting it up to nibble at my jaw.

The actual fuck has gotten into him? Not that I minded; Sherlock was fairly attractive both physically and emotionally, and I had grown increasingly comfortable with him. Comfortable enough to where I had tried to imagine us together to see if it would work.

But Sherlock, at least to my knowledge, hasn't given any indication that he was interested in me. But then, I was pretty dumb, so maybe I just didn't notice? I thought he was aro-ace, so I didn't bother, but shit, if he wants me, I have no complaints.

"Um," I started, but my voice was far too squeaky, so I cleared my throat before trying again. "Not that it's not welcome, it is, but uh, what are you doing?" I asked just as his lips started on my neck, making me jump a little and whimper.

"No idea," Sherlock hummed. "Kind of hard to explain."

My brows furrowed, as I was just becoming more confused.

So that's when I brought my hand to his chest and pushed him away a little. "Try me." I more or less demanded when his eyes met mine.

Sherlock took my hand in his and sighed. "I have a bad habit of becoming bored when there aren't any cases for me to solve. Neither John nor Mycroft approve of my smoking, so they hide my cigarettes, which I'm sure you know makes people irritable..."

"Get to the point, Sherlock." I sighed.

"Well, you're very good at distracting me. You do it quite often, really. So, I was thinking you would do well to distract me even more." He said.

Oh.

Oh, okay then.

I brought my legs from over the arm of the chair and stood up, still facing him, and I grit my teeth and slapped him as hard as I could. I think I heard him hit the floor, but I didn't really care as I walked out, slamming the door shut behind me, and went to my own flat, slamming shut that door and doing all the locks instead of just one like I normally did.

Now that I was alone in the quiet, I could feel my skin burning where his lips had touched down, and my breathing quickly became uneven as my eyes filled up.

For a moment, I wondered if I was being selfish for wanting more. I grit my teeth again and decide fuck no, I was not being selfish. He just wanted to use me, and that was it.

I wiped under my eyes and took a deep breath, then went into my room, looking through my contacts as I curled up in my blankets. I held my phone up to my ear, still trying to calm my breathing, and my best friend soon picked up.

"Hey, you got an hour? Cause I got some tea."


	6. Chapter 6

He knocked on my door the next day, and I called for him to fuck off, I was busy. I didn't plan on seeing anybody for a good week or so, and I put my time into my writing. I now had time and was full of rage and thus, inspired.

Angry writers make the best stories. Ask any writer.

"Briar, please? I'm sorry! I understand that what I said, what I did was not exactly good." He said through the wood.

"Yeah, and you probably had to have John explain it to you, didn't you?" I snapped as I stood, going to put a hardcore CD into the TV.

"Briar." He sighed. "I'm really sorry. I'm very sorry. Extremely sorry. Please open the door."

I pressed play and turned the volume up as the electric guitars and drums started to play, effectively drowning his voice out.

I smiled, taking the remote and going back to the sofa, turning the volume down after a few minutes and I continued typing, getting everything out of my brain.

Yes, I was a transcriber, but that was more to pay the bills. I didn't exactly like sharing that I was also an author with people. I had a pen name, Daisy Gray. Two characters from two of my favorite books; Daisy Buchanan from The Great Gatsby, and Dorian Gray from The Picture of Dorian Gray.

I had two novels out that have done okay for themselves. Both toeing the line between horror and psych thriller. I just liked to write fucked up shit.

No different for this one.

I went a full week without leaving the flat, writing nonstop. After eight days, I texted my best friend, Sam, to meet so she could read it over before I brought it to my editor, as Sam was a pretty good editor herself.

She agreed to meet up with me the next day, and I took a long, long shower, then slept for a good sixteen hours or so.

The next day, I got myself dressed, did my makeup and my hair, and got a larger bag to put my laptop and charger in. I got my keys, wallet, phone, lipstick (in case I needed a touch up), and stepped out, locking up before I left to meet her at a cafe we liked to hang out in.

I got in a cab and paid the cabbie, getting out of the cab when I arrived and saw her sitting at a table, two large teas already there. She even got me a blueberry muffin to pick at as she read.

I got my laptop out, typed in the password, then turned it into a tablet for her to read easier.

"Edit away." I smiled as I handed it over, and she propped it on the table and got to work. She knew I always had two copies saved, so I could go back and compare the original first draft to her editing and change stuff if I didn't like something she did.

"How long did this take?" She asked and I absentmindedly cracked my knuckles.

"Uh... eight days? Nine, maybe? Don't know, but I had to soak my fingers in hot water to relax them like once a day." I said and she chuckled.

We spent a good few hours there, her asking questions about my intentions or whatever here and there.

"Dude, this is fucked up." She said, glancing at me. "Like, you've written some shit in the past. But, dude." She made me laugh a little.

"I like it. I really do. You really nail the 'it's sick, but I have to know what happens next' thing." Sam nodded.

"Aw, thanks." I smiled. "Tell me straight, are the sex scenes too cringy?" I asked.

"No way! I think it adds to the sickening factor. You know, like, how dare I enjoy this while this is happening?" She laughed a little at herself. "For a virgin, you've got detail in sex scenes down."

"I watch a lot of porn. I read a lot of porn." I shrugged, taking my laptop back to save her work, then closed it and put it back in my bag. "Polishing the pearl a lot helps, too."

"I didn't need to know that, but thank you." Sam chuckled as I grinned. "So, anything new about douche-wad?" She asked.

"Not really. I'm not sure he even wants to speak to me anymore." I shrugged.

"And? Are you cool with that?" She asked.

"He wanted to use me for sex, Sam. He thought I'd be a distraction for him while he was bored. His words, not mine." I said, sipping the last of my third cup of tea.

"He said sorry, right?" She looked at me.

"Yeah." I nodded. "I'm not forgiving him. Not yet, at least."

"I hear you, man." She nodded, drinking her own tea. "Dick." She just whispered, and I chuckled.

"I should probably get back home. You know, look over your work and talk about you behind your back." I nodded, and Sam grinned at me.

"Alright. See you, dude. Good luck." She hummed and I pecked her forehead before walking out, hailing another cab to get home.

John was coming home at the same time I was, and he greeted me with a smile.

"Haven't seen you in forever, it seems." He said, unlocking the door to let us in.

"I've been keeping busy. Just came from a meeting that'll probably just make me busier." I sighed with a smile.

John looked up at their flat and back to me, and I sighed.

"No, John."

"He really regrets it, Briar. He's angry at himself. Moody." John spoke lowly.

"Like I'm not angry?" I huffed. "Like I would be cool with anyone, not just him, just using me for a one and done?"

"Briar, for all we know, it might not have been a one-time thing." John sighed.

"He specifically said that he was bored and I was a good distraction. What the fuck else does that say to you?" I narrowed my eyes.

"Listen, I'm tired of him moping around and you avoiding everyone. If you don't talk to him soon, I will make you." John warned, and I just scoffed and went to go down to my flat.

I got my key to unlock the door but found it already unlocked. So, confused, I stepped in and saw that curly haired idiot lying on my sofa.


	7. Chapter 7

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" I stared, and his head snapped up and he looked at me like a deer in headlights.

"Briar. Hi." Sherlock sat up. "You, uh, you look nice."

"Save it," I said and pointed outside, and he got the message but remained sitting.

"You won't even try to hear me out?" He asked, and I clenched my jaw. Of course, the logical, mature side of me told me it was only fair to let him explain himself. But the angry side of me said fuck that.

I let my hand drop to my side with a sigh, then closed the door and set my bag down and I sat in an armchair, staring at him.

"Well?" My brow raised, and Sherlock looked a little too stunned to even speak.

"I... everything I said that day came out wrong, and I am so terribly sorry." He started, and my expression didn't change in the slightest.

"I didn't mean you were a distraction in a bad way."

"There's a good way to be a distraction?" My brow quirked higher.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded.

"How?" My eyes narrowed.

"It... When you're in the room, it's just so hard for me to focus on anything else." He said, and my jaw dropped ever so slightly. "How am I supposed to focus on a case when you make the best expressions, you always have the best things to say, you're always smiling or laughing at something. I need to know what you laugh at so I know what makes you happy."

I let my eyes drop as they started to fill, and I tried to fight it off.

"I keep a list in my head, in my mind palace, of things you smile and laugh at, even just a little. And it's really hard to care about someone's brother who beat a man to death with an umbrella when the way you smile at the word 'flabbergasted' is on my mind." Sherlock kept talking, and I smiled a little despite my best efforts.

"I'm not using it as an excuse, but I know I can be a bit of an asshole when I get bored. John can handle it, he's had years of practice, and Mycroft being there just made me even more annoyed, and then you came in, and..." He trailed off, and I sniffled a little and heard his footsteps as he came over and knelt down on the floor, bringing his hand up to lift my face.

"I had always believed that beauty is an abstract construct created from childhood influences, role models, and imagination. I usually don't notice or don't care about what other people perceive to be beautiful, or even mildly attractive." His thumb wiped under my eye where a tear spilled, and I was biting my lip to keep it from wobbling as I looked into those blue eyes of his.

"But then there you were, just sitting in my chair, looking so sleepy, so annoyed at everything." Sherlock chuckled a little. "And my first thought was how beautiful you were. And it scared me, I had no idea what to do. My mind began picturing things, I dare not tell you..." He blushed lightly. "But I knew I had to do something about it. I just didn't know why, or how, even."

More tears spilled, and he brushed those away as well. "My best excuse is that I was just too stupid to fully think through everything before I spoke, and that's not near as good as anything you deserve."

I sniffled and wiped away some more stupid tears with the back of my hand. "I thought you saw me as some whore or something..."

"No. No, Briar, no. I don't. I'd never." Sherlock shook his head, holding my cheek gently. "I can't tell you how sorry I am that the thought even crossed your mind."

I gathered my strength at seeing how sincere he was, and let my arms come around his neck, sliding to join him on the carpet as I hugged him.

Sherlock just froze for a moment before his arms came around me, hugging me back. I wanted to press my face into him but didn't want to ruin his shirt with my makeup, which was probably all over the place now.

"Fuck..." I sighed, wiping my tears even more as I sat back. "I probably look like a mess."

"No," Sherlock smiled a little as he shook his head. "I've seen messier. I'm actually very impressed that you don't have those weird black tears everywhere." He said, making me laugh a little.

He then quieted, and his face calmed. "Do you... is it possible for you to forgive me?"

I nodded, and Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. I soon stood up to go clean my face, and he looked nervous when I came back, but relaxed a little when I sat next to him on the couch.

"So," I started. "Can I know what sort of pictures your mind came up with?" I asked with a small smile, and Sherlock shook his head.

"No, definitely not."

"Aw, please?! I think I have a right to know since I'm guessing they're about me." I pouted.

"Of course they were about..." Sherlock saw my grin, and he trailed off. "Shit."

"Please? I have to know!" I begged.

"Why?"

"Because I'm curious. What did you picture me doing? What did I look like? I have to know." I tried again.

"I'm not telling you, Briar." Sherlock insisted.

"Fine. Be greedy and save them in your spank bank." I huffed, and he gave me a look. "What? It's not like there's anything wrong with it. People think about other people that way all the time."

"Still," Sherlock said.

"Alright, then. Why don't you want to tell me? Be completely honest." I asked.

"This is embarrassing..." Sherlock groaned and leaned back, closing his eyes. "Not that I wouldn't love to participate in such... activities with you, but I just have this sort of idea that I would just tarnish you. I'd ruin the pure version of you I have in my mind." He sighed.

"Well, you need to get rid of her, because I have not been this so-called 'pure' for a while," I said. "Shit, Sherlock, we've talked about our biggest sins in this very room. You think I'm pure after that?"

"I suppose you're right." He sighed again. "But also, I'm not experienced. I have no experience, actually. You've probably had way better..."

"Nope." I shook my head, and he gave me a confused look. "Virgin."

"You?" He asked and I nodded. "I don't believe you."

"And why not?" I asked, raising my brow.

"You're so..." Sherlock struggled for a word. "Attractive."

"Even if that's true, that doesn't mean anyone else has ever liked me enough." I shrugged.

Sherlock just stared at me, this somewhat amazed look on his face that made me smile.


	8. Chapter 8

For the next week or so, I had figured out that Sherlock has probably never been in a relationship before.

He started coming over every day again, but when he was with me in my flat, he acted like he had no clue what to do with himself.

I was usually too anxious to do anything first, not just in relationships, but I found myself taking initiative during these times.

My favorite so far was when I was fixing us both tea, and I sensed him standing a couple feet behind me. So I just said, "yes, Sherlock," and he came right over and wrapped his arms around me, pressing his mouth and nose to my shoulder, making me smile.

But today he really surprised me when he came into my flat (I didn't really lock the door anymore), and just stood at the end of the couch and struggled for words as I typed.

"Spit it out, Sherlock." I hummed.

"I..." He started, then sighed. "Never mind. It's stupid." He sighed and turned to leave again.

"Come here," I said, and he shut my door and came over and sat beside me, and I tapped the save button and set my laptop aside. "Talk to me."

"No, really, Briar-" He said with a sigh.

"Nothing you say is stupid. Now come on, out with it." I smiled.

"I wanted to ask you to lunch." His eyes met mine, and my brow raised.

"Why would you think that's... oh." I suddenly figured out why he thought it was stupid.

"I didn't want to embarrass you..." Sherlock said softly.

I pressed my lips together, touched that he wanted to take me somewhere, and even more touched that he was considerate of my feelings.

"I know a fish and chips place with some pretty good fries if you're interested." I offered.

Sherlock gave me a look. "How can you call them chips and fries in the same sentence? That's blasphemy."

"They're called fries, you fucking Brit. Go get dressed." I groaned, shut my laptop, and went to my room as he laughed.

I put on a pair of skinny jeans and a regular ass tank top with my favorite bomber jacket,  and some booties with a little heel. I did my makeup as I usually did and put my hair back into a ponytail. I tucked my keys, lipstick, and wallet into my smaller body bag, tucked my phone in my pocket, and met Sherlock by the door.

His hand slipped under my chin, and I looked up to watch him study my face, and I smiled a little at his expression. His thumb traced my jawline, and he didn't say a word, but I knew everything he thought at that moment.

We got in a cab and I gave the shop's name and address, and Sherlock stepped out of his comfort zone a little and played with my fingers the whole ride.

He paid when we arrived, and I lead him in by his hand and we were seated at a booth.

I thought a bit about how this was his first relationship (probably) and he was most likely a bit scared. He did say that the things he felt all those days ago scared him, and he didn't know what to do with them.

So I had decided to think of it as if he were a teenager experiencing their first real crush. I mean, everyone's been there at some point. This wasn't so different.

As we ordered and ate, Sherlock kept me pretty entertained with a story from one of the first cases he worked with John.

While we were finishing up, he got a text and hummed lowly.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Detective Inspector calling me to a crime scene... not too far from here, actually." He said, eyes flicking up to me, and he pursed his lips.

"What are you thinking?" I asked, not understanding why he wasn't saying he was going to be there soon. I mean, that was his job, wasn't it?

"Well, I'm out with you right now." He said as if it were obvious. "It'd be a bit rude to leave you for a corpse."

I laughed a little at that. "I'm flattered, thank you. Tell you what, we can both go down there, and I'll hang out on the other side of the police tape until you're done."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked.

"Yep. I'm used to hanging around weird places waiting for people." I shrugged as he sent the text, put a couple bills on the table, and we left.

We didn't bother taking a cab as it was only a few blocks away, and he looked at me once we saw the police cars and tape.

"You're sure you'll be alright?" He asked, and I just smiled.

"Yes, Sherlock. I'll be fine." I chuckled.

"I won't be long." He said, making me roll my eyes.

"No, you do your job right. Don't rush it." I said, and he looked at me with a little teasing smile, and I raised my brow at him. He touched my cheek before walking off, and I slipped my phone out of my pocket and sat on the curb, playing a word game as I waited.

I'm not sure how much time passed, but I soon heard a woman's voice call out, and I looked up and saw her looking at me.

"You got any business being around here?" She asked, crossing her arms.

"Just waiting for someone in there," I called back.

"Yeah? Who'll that be, then?" She asked.

"Sherlock Holmes," I answered, then turned my phone off when I heard her laugh.

"Sherlock Holmes? The freak?" She asked with a wide smile, and my brows furrowed. She motioned for me to come over, and she held the tape up for me, so I slipped my phone in my pocket and faced her once I was on the other side.

"You a friend of his or something? Has freak made another friend?" She asked, and I just narrowed my eyes as my head tilted. "Don't tell me you're seeing him." She laughed a bit, and I just started to grit my teeth.

"You do know that he's not paid to come here, right? He just gets off on it. Did he let you know? Also, how did he even land a girl like you? I mean, you are quite pretty, and he's... well, he's the freak." She shrugged. "You know we call him The Virgin down at Scotland Yard?" She then grinned.

"You an officer?" I asked.

"I'm a Sergeant." She nodded, and I pursed my lips as I nodded slowly, humming.

"Mind telling me what the usual punishment is for assaulting a Sergeant, then?" I asked and saw her suddenly turn serious.

"Why do you want to know?" Her tone became hard.

"To decide if it's worth it or not." I practically snarled, and an arm came around my front and pulled me a little ways away.

"Okay, no jail time for you today," Sherlock said as he made me back up, and I just continued to glare at her.

"What's going on here?" A man with silver hair came over with another man in protective clothing.

"Freak's girlfriend is a psychopath as well." The woman stared at me in disgust.

"The Sergeant needs to learn how to keep her fucking mouth shu-"

"Okay, we're leaving." Sherlock lifted the tape and got me out before I could land us in trouble.

It wasn't until we were halfway down the block when I saw him smiling to himself.

"What?" I asked, smiling myself, as his was contagious.

"Just you. I've never heard anyone talk to Sergeant Donavan that way." Sherlock sighed.

"You didn't hear how she was talking about you." I huffed, and his arm came around me, pulling me to his side.

"She talks shit about me all the time. I'm quite used to it." He just hummed and I looked up at him.

"You shouldn't be," I said softly, and Sherlock looked down at me with those caring blue eyes. I felt his thumb appreciatively stroke my waist where he held me, and he smiled softly.

Once again, I knew exactly what he was thinking.


	9. Chapter 9

I had sent in the draft to my editor and had no new court cases to transcribe, so I was bored as hell.

So bored that one morning, in my sweat shorts, T-shirt, and fuzzy socks, I walked up to 221B, let myself in, and sat myself down on Sherlock's chair. I slipped my phone out of my pocket and put it on the table as Sherlock peeked out from the kitchen at me.

"What are you doing here, Briar?" He asked.

"I'm bored as shit." I sighed, letting my head fall back. "Nothing for me to work on, no shows seem interesting, no books look interesting either..."

He came out of the kitchen and lifted me up for a second, sat down, and put me on his lap. Not minding, I let my head meet his shoulder and I closed my eyes, breathing in his fresh, clean scent.

"We can be bored together, then." He hummed, and I felt the vibration of his voice.

"Yay." I just replied and he chuckled under me. I let my arms loop around his neck and shoulders, as one of his hands held my waist and the other was over my legs, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the outside of my thigh.

I was incredibly comfortable here with him, but I couldn't help but think about how much more comfortable we would be in my bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows and the softest blankets in the world.

So I slid out of his arms and stood up, grabbing my phone, and taking his hand in mine. "Come on," I said as I pulled, and he didn't budge.

"Why?"

"Because. Come on." I pouted and tugged again, with no luck. "I promise you, my bed is about twenty times comfier."

Sherlock chuckled and stood up, letting me pull him down and to my room. He's never been in my room before. I think he was sort of a traditionalist, or at least tried to be.

He started to look nervous as I set my phone on the nightstand, then crawled into bed, holding up numerous blankets for him to get under with me. I saw him looking around at my lilac walls, the fairy lights around the room, just the overall aesthetic.

"Sherlock," I said, snapping him out of his thoughts, and he looked down at me, kicked off his shoes, and finally joined me. I let the blankets fall around us and happily settled as his arm came around my waist again, pulling me to him. To be in that signature female position, I let one of my legs hitch up and tangle with his.

"I'd say it's more like thirty-five percent more comfortable." Sherlock hummed, making me chuckle. I let my eyes fall closed as I just listened to us breathe.

"I do hope you know that having me in your bedroom is tempting me to no end." He whispered some minutes later, and I smiled a little.

"It's alright." I hummed, still not opening my eyes, as I was far too comfortable.

"You're sure?" Sherlock asked, his hold tightening on my waist just slightly.

"Just do whatever you're comfortable doing. I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable with something. And if you're unsure about anything, just ask. Sound good?" I asked and just got an 'mhm' from him.

Sherlock started light, just stroking my waist above my shirt, then his fingertips met my arm, trailing across my skin. He then surprised me a little when his hand slid under my shirt, but I had no problems with it. I liked how smooth his hands felt.

He trailed across my stomach for a moment, stopping when he reached the hem of my shorts, then changed directions to meet my side again. And he was back to stroking my side, going from just under my chest (when he felt I wasn't wearing a bra) to my hipbone. I found myself enjoying the pattern and feeling the dip his hand did at my waist, and how perfectly he cupped my hipbone in his palm.

He paused for a moment, then I heard and felt him shift, and I felt his other hand meet my chin and he tilted my head back. My breathing got a little shaky as I knew what was coming, and yet I was still stunned when his lips met my jaw, right by my ear, softly kissing my skin, leaving little nips with his teeth here and there.

I wasn't ashamed in the slightest when my mouth fell open as a soft sigh came out of me. I let my own hands come up and to the back of his neck, just fiddling with his hair there.

Sherlock's hand went down to my thigh to feel the skin on the outside again, his lips at my neck, and I felt so, so hot. A part of me just wanted him to start focusing on my inner thighs.

But his lips left my neck, and his raspy voice broke me from my thoughts.

"Can I kiss you?" Sherlock asked, and I licked my lips as I nodded. Both hands came up to hold my face, bringing it to his, and as he got closer, I could feel his shaky, uneven breath on my lips.

He still kissed me though. He still pressed his lips against mine, and I had to sort of lead him through with moving my lips against his.

But Sherlock was a fast learner, and very soon got the hang of it. I had my hands buried in his hair, my heart feeling like a fucking hummingbird, and as he carefully traced from my hip to my thigh, _fuck_ , how I wanted to press my hips against his.

It was hot. Far too hot. I let one of my hands leave his hair, and I broke our kiss just for a second to push the blankets off of us. I looked back to Sherlock to kiss him again, and saw him such a state of shock, and what I almost recognized to be lust.


	10. Chapter 10

"Sherlock?" I asked softly, and his hands left my cheeks to hold onto my hips, and he turned me onto my back, kicking the blankets down even further and coming over me. I let my hands drop from his hair and onto the bed above my head slightly.

"I..." Sherlock started to say, his eyes glued to me. I could only imagine what thoughts he must be thinking with me under him like this.

"I can't even think." He sighed and let his head drop to catch my lips in a burning kiss. I smiled a little as I kissed him back, growing cocky as I was slowly learning just how badly I affected him.

His thumbs were rubbing circles into my hipbones, and he had pushed my shirt up just a little. Wanting to contribute, I tilted my head slightly and parted my lips, dragging the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip.

Sherlock shivered above me, and parted his lips as well, tilting his head a little the other way. I teased his tongue with mine as we kissed, just giving him ideas of what to do before he took over.

I blushed as he drew a soft moan from me, but that only made Sherlock kiss me harder. I gasped when he broke our kiss, leaving me breathing hard.

"I have to... I-I want to see you." He fumbled over his words, and I nodded breathlessly as he slid my shirt up and off me.

I was then suddenly reminded of how much I weighed, how thin I was. Sherlock stared down at me with awe in his eyes, but all I could think about was how easy it was to count my ribs. How my hip bones stuck out from under my skin. Just how fucking small I was.

"Look at you. You're..." He breathed.

"Hideous." I finished for him, looking down, and Sherlock gave me the most confused look ever.

"No. Briar, don't you dare say that about yourself. You're lovely." Sherlock said, trailing his fingers down my stomach.

"I look like a fucking skeleton," I whispered.

"You do not." Sherlock shook his head. He then pinched some skin on my stomach, making me wince lightly. "See? Not a skeleton."

He smoothed the skin back down and leaned forward, kissing my lips lightly. He didn't say another word, he only kissed across the top of my chest and down the middle of my torso. He reached the hem of my sweatshorts and glanced up.

"May I?" He asked and I nodded once again. He slid them down my legs, running his hands over my shins and calves, knees, and my thighs as he came back up to my hips and the lace trim of my panties.

I nodded again, and his brows raised. "Are you sure?" Sherlock asked.

"As long as you promise to shed some layers, too, yeah." I gave him a little smile.

Sherlock chuckled and carefully peeled down my panties, his lips parting slightly as he finally saw me fully bare under him. And honestly? It was not as embarrassing as I thought it'd be.

He sat up over me and began taking his own clothes off, and for the first time today, I wondered where exactly this was going.

Once Sherlock's shirt was off, I got a good look at that pale skin and damn. I knew he was slender, duh, but I didn't know he had some muscle on him, too. I mean, it wasn't over the top, just slightly defined, still a little soft looking.

I reached out to touch him, and I half expected him to feel cold and hard, like marble. I swear, he looked like he was carved from marble.

Once his pants and boxers were off, and I peeked at his hardness, I sat myself up, now feeling a little giddy. I could feel my heartbeat in my eardrums and it was pounding.

"What do you want to do?" I asked once we were face-to-face, just to see what page he was on.

"I... don't want to say." He averted his eyes.

"Sherlock," I scolded lightly, then thought of how to get him to speak.

"Is it dirty?" I asked softly, then licked my lips a little. "Because I'm sort of a fan of dirty talk." That wasn't even a lie, though.

His eyes met mine again, and his hands came to rest at my hips. "I want to fuck you," He started slowly, speaking very low to me, holding perfect eye contact. "I want to leave bruises on your neck, and your hips. I want to hear you as you pull on my hair, or scratch me, whatever you'd like. I want to watch you and know what you look like when you orgasm. I want to know if I'll make your back arch if I'll make you tremble if I make you scream."

My breathing had caught in my throat and became very, very uneven. His hand had met my back as he spoke and curved me into him, and I knew he could feel how hard my heart was working. I'd be such a liar if I said this wasn't making me wet.

A little smirk came to his lips. "It seems you want the same."

I just nodded, giving him my permission, and shivered as his hand slipped from my hips and between my legs. I shifted them apart for him where I sat, and breathed in sharply as he slipped his fingers between my folds and rubbed my wetness around.

I was stunned that Sherlock still held perfect eye contact, and I really didn't want to be the one to look away. But when his middle finger slipped into me, I had no choice but to let my eyes close as I bit my lip.

After a moment, he pushed another finger in, and he wasn't exactly pumping them. No, I knew exactly what he was looking for. Once he found that rough patch of wall, he curled his fingers to press on it, making my mouth drop open in a gasp as I shook a little.

"Good girl," Sherlock praised, and I opened my eyes to look at him, begging him silently for more. I was wrapped around his fingers, literally.

Sherlock pulled his fingers from me, lying me back down, and he positioned himself between my legs. He didn't push into me, though. No, he leaned down and started kissing and leaving hickeys on my neck as he ground himself down against me.

Sociopaths were extremely prone to risk-taking behavior, one popular example being unprotected sex. I would've told him to wrap it up, but I was on the pill, and I couldn't get it out of my head, how hot it'd be when he finished in me.

When Sherlock finished his masterpiece on my neck, he pulled back and looked at me with a grin. I pulled him down by his hair into a kiss, and he adjusted my hips and pushed into me as I did so.

I gasped into his mouth at the foreign feeling. It didn't hurt, I didn't hate it, but fuck, it felt odd.

Sherlock began to move, still kissing me heatedly. I found myself incredibly happy, and let my fingers lace into his hair.

He held my hips, and his grip got a bit harder, as well as his kiss. I was almost sure we'd both have bruised lips after a while. Sherlock increased his pace and I moaned, bringing my legs up to give him more room. I pulled on his hair at the roots a little, earning a groan, and kept at it.

At least until Sherlock was fucking me sorta hard, and we were forced to stop kissing. So I let my hands leave his hair and hold his shoulders, moaning frequently, almost uncontrollably, and let my nails sink in.

I had begun swearing and saying his name as I felt the pressure building, and Sherlock just kept going. His hand leaving my hip to press hard on my clit.

He was right. He was fucking right. I gave a small scream, and my back arched at the huge ass rush of pleasure it gave me. My swears got louder, and I let my nails trace over his back, feeling Sherlock's breath becoming labored and uneven.

With another push of his finger, I broke. I tensed up and shook, and felt myself tighten as I started to come. Sherlock himself wasn't far behind me, and I felt him shudder against me, give a low groan, and then there was a warmth pooling down there that went away after a few seconds.

Sherlock pulled out and came to lie beside me. I didn't expect him to be one to cuddle after sex, but he pulled me to his chest, making me smile as we relaxed.


	11. Chapter 11

I was extremely comfortable lying there with Sherlock, and I didn't want to get up anytime soon, but as a female, we usually had to pee after sex, so I got up with a groan to do that.

As I washed my hands after, I got a good look at all the purple and red hickeys littering my neck, and I gave a little smile to my reflection.

I rinsed and dried my hands before going back to my room, and Sherlock welcomed me back into his arms.

"Now I can't be called The Virgin anymore." He hummed and I gave a little giggle and kissed his jawline. Sherlock turned his head and looked at me. "Was it okay? Was I okay?"

"You were great, Sherlock." I smiled, letting my arms come around him. "I didn't think you knew about the G spot though... or the clit, for that matter."

"It's just anatomy." He gave a small shrug. "Really, it's just remembering where to put pressure. I was going to put a little pressure around here, but I got impatient." He said and tapped a spot on my pelvis with my finger.

I just shook my head, and he gave me a confused look.

"No way, Sherlock. I do that to myself, and it makes me squirt like a fucking fountain." I admitted with a blush. "I'd really rather not deal with that mess."

Sherlock gave a surprised laugh, and I was still a blushing mess. "I didn't think you knew that."

"You have no idea how much porn I consume." I shook my head lightly.

"I'm curious to know, but at the same time, I don't think I want to know." He hummed.

We lied there just talking for a while before my stomach had to make its presence known, and I rolled my eyes. Sherlock kissed my forehead and told me to get up. He grabbed his boxers and put them on, saying he was going to put the kettle on the stove to start tea for me.

I smiled to myself, standing and putting on a clean pair of panties (boyshorts, because my ass looked so good in boyshorts), a cropped tank top, and I tied my hair up in a bun before I walked out to the kitchen, and looked in the fridge and freezer for something to eat, though I really just wanted chips.

So I got out a bag of frozen fries to make, and preheated the oven, and got down a bag of chips and a bowl so I could eat chips while I waited for the fries to be done.

Sherlock shook his head at me, and I just shrugged. "I'm going to have ice cream later."

"That's not better, Briar." He chuckled.

"Yeah, well, it's all I can stomach without wanting to throw up after." I shrugged.

Sherlock came over to where I was leaning on the counter, and he kissed me softly and sweetly, taking me by surprise. I stood to kiss him a bit better, and he pulled back.

He opened his mouth to speak, and he then sighed and closed his mouth again, and just let his hands trace from my ribs to my hips. I smiled softly, knowing what he meant but didn't know how to say.

I was getting better at this. After all, actions spoke louder than words.

I pecked his lips to say thanks and glanced at the TV. "You wanna pick something out?"

Sherlock gave me a small smile and went over, and I began making us tea in the biggest mugs I had as it was nearly done.

"You certainly have better taste than John," Sherlock said. "He likes dramas."

"Ugh." I made a disgusted noise in the back of my throat jokingly.

"I'll tell him you think so." Sherlock chuckled. "What's your favorite movie? Your favorite show?"

"The Dark Knight." I immediately said. "Best superhero movie ever made. DC has gone to shit the last couple years, so Marvel's been pretty dominant, but Marvel wishes they could make something as brilliant as The Dark Knight."

Sherlock plucked the case out from the top of a stack and gave me a look.

"I may or may not have a small obsession with the Joker." My eyes flickered to my collection of Joker comics on the bookshelves. I had limited edition collections, I had every single comic he has ever been in.

"What's so great about him?" Sherlock asked, and I stared with wide eyes.

"He is... the greatest character ever created. His backstory is unknown. No one knows where he came from, what his real name is, who his family is, does he even have a family? Nothing." I started as I brought over his tea and set it on the coffee table.

"All the people in Gotham; citizens, the police, the heroes, the villains, everyone, they all label as insane. But the thing is, he's not insane at all. In fact, his creators call his condition 'super sanity.' He's much more aware of everything going on than anyone else. He's aware that he's a character in a comic, which to him, just gives him more free reign to do whatever the fuck he wants. And that's probably the best thing about him." I leaned on the counter.

"Most villains are striving to the same things; money, fame, power, revenge. It's the same shit over and over again. But Joker? He doesn't have a reason. He just does shit because he wants to. He wants to watch the world burn, and he couldn't give less of a shit about it." I smiled a little.

"Joker, in the comics, is always talking about how reality is a shitty cycle that always repeats itself. He talks a lot about morality and ethics, and it's honestly really interesting." I then skipped over out of excitement and plucked The Killing Joke off the shelf.

"This one, The Killing Joke, said to be the best comic ever, is where he talks about his main philosophy, which he calls One Bad Day." I flipped it open to the page, unaware that Sherlock was just staring at me.

"Joker doesn't have a backstory, I've already said that, but The Killing Joke is partly about what the creators decided is the closest to his true origins. He got into financial issues, tried to make a little money by getting into organized crime, got the shit beaten out of him by Batman, who then threw him into this vat of unstable chemicals, which just fucked him up. When he saw himself with bleached skin, green hair, and a big red smile, he realized how fucked up everything was, and he laughed." I sighed, showing him the page.

"His philosophy is that all it takes is one bad day to turn the sanest man alive to lunacy. He proves this by talking about his bad day, bringing up Batman's bad day, and making another man go through a horribly bad day to break him. And then he went on to say that all people went through a bad day that changed them drastically. Maybe the bad didn't turn them into a superhero or a villain, but it always happens." I smiled a little as I closed the book and looked up at Sherlock, who just had his eyebrows raised at me.

"Your fries are almost ready." Was all he said, and I handed him the book and went back into the kitchen.

When I peeked back, I smiled as I saw him reading the page I had it open to.


	12. Chapter 12

My editor, a month or so after I sent her a draft, contacted me saying she was done editing. I went to pick up the papers from her, covered in red ink notes, and I sighed when I set the stack on my coffee table, my laptop beside it.

I stared at the two, knowing I should get to work soon, or I'd regret it, but I really didn't feel like getting started today. I wanted another day of calm before I started on days of hardly eating, forgetting to shower, and living off tea and diet coke.

So I grabbed a tub of strawberry ice cream, scooped about half of the tub into a huge ass bowl, grabbed a spoon, and went up to 221B.

Sherlock and John were up there with DI Lestrade and that fucking Sergeant Donavan. There was another woman with long brown hair and a colorful striped scarf.

I sat on their couch, and the sound made John turn and look at me.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Stalling." I sighed and ate some ice cream.

"Holy shit. Are you going to eat all of that?" His eyes bugged at the amount of ice cream in my bowl.

"...yes." I just blinked.

He fumbled for words, his mouth just opening and closing, and the other four noticed I was here.

"Strawberry?" Sherlock questioned me.

"I ran out of moose tracks." I just shrugged.

"You got that tub five days ago," Sherlock said and I shrugged again.

"Disgusting." Donavan scoffed.

"Yeah, no one asked you." I gave her a little glare before I let my face fall again. "So, is there a new case?" I asked.

"Possibly." John hummed. "It's similar to one of the earlier cases we did together, serial suicides."

My brows furrowed as I swallowed. "Serial suicides? That's a thing?"

"Technically it was a serial killer." Sherlock came over and sat beside me, moving my legs so he could sit. "He'd pick them up in a cab, talk to the victims, then he would bring out two identical bottles with two identical pills in them. One was poison, the other completely safe; a sugar pill. He'd make them choose, and he would take the other pill. So, still suicides, but done by a serial killer." He explained and I nodded.

"He could've been lying. Like a Princess Bride thing." I hummed.

"What?" John asked.

"Both of the pills could've been poison, but he just had built an immunity to it." The brown-haired woman in the scarf said. "Why didn't we think of that?"

She then looked at me and smiled. "Hi, I'm Molly."

"Briar." I nodded with a small smile.

"Psychopath." Donavan murmured.

"It's not my flat, but I'll still kick you out," I warned, then looked back at Sherlock. "So how do you know they're serial suicides?"

"The timing is way too close to be normal. It's like this serial killer has a list. All the victims have been shot in the head, which we could pass off as normal suicides, but when left-handed people had been shot on the right side..." He said and I nodded in understanding again.

"Nothing connecting the victims?" I asked, eating more ice cream.

"Not yet." He shook his head, sitting back. "Why are you up here?"

"I was just given a shit load of work to do, and I don't want to get started yet, so I'm stalling," I said, and Sherlock pursed his lips.

"Someone actually employed you?" Donavan asked.

"You maybe wanna tell me what the sentence is for assault now?" I asked, and her eyes narrowed.

"Donavan, go wait by the car." Lestrade sighed, and she sighed as she walked out.

"Fuckin' bitch..." I said under my breath, and Sherlock gave me a little proud grin.

"So, will you come by the Yard tomorrow? Take a good look around?" Lestrade asked him.

"Of course. It's been a while since we've had a real challenge." Sherlock said, glancing at him before looking at me again.

Lestrade and Molly soon left, and John decided he didn't want to third wheel when Sherlock put my legs over his lap.

"It's better to just ignore Donavan. She only bullies because she's lonely and desperate for attention." He said, then leaned in a bit. "She's sleeping with Anderson, even though Anderson's married. She doesn't care, though, as he's the only one who actually gives her the time of day." Sherlock rolled his eyes as I snickered.

"I'll keep it in mind, but you and I both know I'm easy to piss off." I gave him a look, setting my half-empty bowl aside, and Sherlock tugged me a little closer once my hands were free, and more importantly, my mouth.

"I'm still a bit shocked at how hard you hit me." He said.

"You deserved it." I just smiled.

"I know I deserved it." Sherlock leaned in and kissed me softly for a moment. I let my hand come up and hold his cheek, and he gave a small hum from the back of his throat.

When the kiss ended, I let my fingers brush over his cheekbone, seeing his eyes look so light and happy.

"Aw, you're so cute." I smiled widely.

"I am not," Sherlock argued.

"You are, too. You're so happy there's a difficult case for you to solve, it's adorable." I said, and he tugged me down on the couch so my head was down on the cushion, and he placed himself between my legs over me.

"I am not 'cute.'" He warned, and I smirked.

"Please."

"If anybody, you're cute, Briar. I am not." Sherlock insisted.

"Sherlock, you could be fucking the shit out of me, and I'd still think you're cute. There's no changing my mind there." I said.

His eyes narrowed at me a little, and he let out a little huff.

"What?" I asked.

"You're testing me."

"Am I?" I hummed.

"Mhm." He licked his lips. "And as much as I would love to make an absolute mess of you on this couch, I want to give those bruises a chance to clear up first." Sherlock eyed my neck where I had color corrected the hickeys and had foundation and concealer over them to hide them.

"Fine." I shrugged. "You do know that rough sex isn't the only type of sex?"

"Stop testing me." Sherlock hissed before kissing me again, his hands sliding up my shirt. I giggled and kissed him back, loving how I affected him.


	13. Chapter 13

A week later, I had finished writing again, listening to the editor's notes, and I sent it back to her. We usually edited about three times until we were both happy with it, though sometimes we had it perfect by two.

Sherlock had gotten nowhere with this serial suicides case, as they were finding absolutely no connection between the victims at all.

"What am I missing?" He groaned in Scotland Yard one day. Why was I there? I have no fucking clue. Sherlock just said he wanted me there, so here I was.

"No one chooses their victims randomly. There's always a reason, always some sort of pattern, some sort of familiarity..." Sherlock said, and I bit my lip, having a thought.

"What if it's not the victims?" I asked, and got a lot of looks.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"I mean, it's just an idea, but what if the killer's reason for choosing the victims isn't specifically about the victims? Like, there might be a common theme in their families, their friends, partners, work, school, whatever." I shrugged.

"It's not a bad idea." John hummed, but Sherlock was still staring at me, but not looking at me. No, he was thinking and his eyes just landed on me.

"Like the muralist." Sherlock's eyes focused on me, and I smiled.

"Yeah! Like the muralist." I nodded and he came over, caught my cheeks, and kissed my forehead.

"You might just be onto something." He gave me a smile and went to look over each file again.

"Sorry, what's the muralist?" Lestrade asked.

"Oh, um, the muralist is this serial killer from a show we like." I started. "He would kidnap his victims, make them overdose on heroin, coat them in resin, and also inject them with silicone, to preserve the bodies," I said and shook my head. "Anyway, the whole point of the pattern between the victims was how they were different, not similar. The killer chose each victim a skin shade just off from the last victim because he was creating a mural out of bodies." I explained.

"That's..." Lestrade started and shook his head as I was just stared at.

"Sick," Donavan said. I rolled my eyes at her and looked away.

So Sherlock and John were busy finding anything that connects all the victims that didn't have to do immediately with the victims. I was busy updating my website as Daisy Gray, where I uploaded an excerpt of one of my favorite scenes in the new novel. I said that there wasn't a release date yet, but there was a new novel in the works.

Now, I wasn't as popular as Rowling, George R. R. Martin, Stephen King, or James Patterson, but I was a bit up there. So after the announcement, I did see a bit attention given to Daisy Gray's new book online.

John and Mrs. Hudson watched a lot of daytime talk shows, and I was hanging out at theirs as a segment was going on about the new book.

"Oh, her stuff is a bit too vile for me." Mrs. Hudson said, and both John and I chuckled.

"She is a bit of a sick writer, that Daisy Gray." He hummed.

The talk show host talked about how this new book was rumored to be even sicker and shocking than the last two.

"Even... oh, dear." Mrs. Hudson sighed, and I chuckled a little more.

"I suppose it's an acquired taste, Mrs. Hudson." I gave her a smile.

The host started talking about how my last two books made her feel, and she openly asked if anyone else thought that Daisy Gray was plagued by nightmares.

"I honestly want to know what her thought process is. What sort of things does she fear? What nightmares does she have? Was there a sort of childhood trauma?" She went on. "No, I'm completely serious. Daisy Gray is a pen name, after all. The author is anonymous, but can you just imagine the sort of life they lead when they write this sort of stuff?"

"All I'm saying is, you can't sleep like a kitten if this is the sort of stuff in your head." She said and tapped a magenta nail on my two book covers.

"Sherlock, perhaps we should have you deduce who Daisy Gray really is," John called.

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked from across the room.

"Curiosity." He just shrugged.

"I haven't read a single one of her books. Couldn't tell you a thing." Sherlock hummed.

"I have copies of both of her books. I'll lend them to you." John said.

"This should be entertaining." I hummed, taking my phone out. I went to Daisy's twitter account and wrote a tweet simply saying, "Don't write what you know. Write what excites you. Write what you want to read." And I posted it, then closed out of Twitter, planning to check back in an hour or so to see how it's done.

In the meantime, I placed a kiss on Sherlock's head and said bye to John and Mrs. Hudson before I went to my own flat, starting to plan another novel because I was on a fucking roll.

I spent hours planning characters, setting, plot, all the good shit, I completely forgot to check on the tweet... or anything else for that matter.

But once I remembered, I checked and grinned at all the people asking if I was alright. I decided to just let that hang there until the novel was released.

This new one was worse in some ways, lighter in others. Not as many sex scenes I planned for this one, as I wasn't focused on making the readers sickeningly curious and hooked. How else to make people sickened than adding in something enjoyable in the middle of something horrible?

But I knew that I had now stepped my game up, and I couldn't let it fall again. I had to keep it up from now on.

The one in the works was a sort of Lolita meets SAW meets Gone Girl. This one was more Slaughterhouse Five meets The Killing Joke meets Split. It was going to be maddeningly confusing to where the reader wouldn't know what was actually happening and what was a hallucination or a dream.

Fuck, I was going to be so busy.


	14. Chapter 14

This fourth novel was going to take longer to write because the third was still being perfected, so I was really working on both.

And I wanted a break.

I got a shower, dried my hair thoroughly as I put some cute panties and a very loose tank top. I made sure I was shaved and perfect and just the way I liked to look before I sent Sherlock a test. It simply read, "Bored. Come down?"

I hopped up on the island, set my phone aside, and it didn't take thirty seconds for Sherlock to walk through my door.

"I've been waiting for you to ask." He sighed as he locked my door.

"You can ask too, ya know." I hummed, smiling as he came over and pressed his lips to mine, my shirt in his fist.

"Freshly showered." He hummed, pulling back slightly to study me. "Now, why would you put on clothes if I was just going take them off?"

"To feel cute." I smiled, and he slid my shirt over my head. "It's like gift wrapping, Sherlock."

"Whatever." He rolled his eyes and parted my thighs as he kissed me again, now working on his own clothes.

I pulled back after he undid his pants, then I hopped down from the island and turned him so his back pressed against it. He raised his brow at me, and I ignored it, tugging his pants and boxers down, sliding down to my knees as I did so. I wrapped my hand around him and stroked to get him fully hard, and looked up to meet his eyes as I began to lick at his arousal.

The sight was nothing less than beautiful. Sherlock bit his bottom lip a little, then let his eyes fall shut, and his mouth fell open as he gave a pleasured sigh. His hands came to my cheeks, then slipped into my hair, guiding me gently as I bobbed my head.

I kept my gag reflex in mind, as it was a very prevalent thing in my life, and I'd really rather not vomit on him. So, yeah, maybe I wasn't the best person to give head, but I hoped I had other things to make up for it.

Sherlock pulled me back up, meeting my lips hungrily, and I couldn't help but smile a little as he groped my ass, squeezing the flesh in his hands.

"What?" He smiled softly against my lips.

"You're being cute again." I smiled, letting my hands rest on his bare chest. Sherlock sighed as he tugged my panties down, and I kicked them off. Sherlock lowered down as he grabbed the back of my thighs, and I gripped his shoulders as he picked me up.

He carried me into my room but didn't set me down on my bed. He instead kneeled, putting my legs around his waist as he sunk into me. I felt him breathe out slowly, and I kept my arms around his neck and shoulders as he began to move.

Sherlock's forehead met mine as he slid in and out of me, and I whimpered at how full I felt, how good he felt. I could feel my muscles going crazy down there, randomly tightening then relaxing. I could only imagine how Sherlock felt when he felt it because to me, it felt amazing.

"Fuck... are you doing that on purpose?" Sherlock breathed, and I shook my head against his. He swore again before he pulled out, then moved us so my back pressed against the headboard and the wall. Sherlock pushed back in, going even deeper than he was previously going.

He kept his thrusts slow as he focused on going deep in me, and fuck, I felt the difference. I let my eyes screw shut, and I was amazed that I already felt close.

I murmured his name a few times and gasped as the first orgasm hit me. Sherlock didn't stop. In fact, he talked me through it, telling me I was beautiful and how good I felt.

I soon opened my eyes and pushed on his chest. "Lie back." I licked my lips, and Sherlock did so, his head near the middle of my bed. I crawled over him, straddled his hips, and sat slowly, letting him fill me once again.

His hands met my hips, and he didn't let them rest there as I rocked back and forth on him. I pushed my hair over my shoulder and leaned forward to kiss him, which Sherlock accepted. He eagerly kissed me back, his thumbs tracing over my nipples as we kissed deeply.

I knew he was getting close when he pulled my hips flush against his, making me gasp, and Sherlock groaned into my mouth in turn. Our kiss had broken, but I still kept close. Sherlock kissed me hard when he came, making me shudder as I came after him.

Our kiss got slower and softer as we relaxed, and we parted so he could pull out and we could both rest. Sherlock kept us there, though, one of his legs between mine as he kept me on top of him. I smiled softly as I had my head on his chest, just hearing and feeling him breathe and his heartbeat.

He had his arms around me, and I smiled a little wider as his fingertips began to trail up and down my back, and he even ventured down one of my cheeks to my thigh before going back up again to continue the pattern.

"I think you've become a fan of my ass, Sherlock." I giggled, and he looked at me, then down my back.

"It's cute." He hummed and gave my cheek a little pinch.

"Thanks." I breathed a small laugh and let my eyes fall closed. I was comfortable and a little sleepy here with him.

"Sleep, love. I'm here." Sherlock whispered and kissed my head, and I breathed in deeply with a smile, and let myself drift off.


	15. Chapter 15

When I woke up again, Sherlock had moved us so we were lying on my bed the right way, and we were under the blankets. I wonder how he managed that without waking me up.

Sherlock had his eyes closed beside me, but based on his breathing, I knew he wasn't asleep. There wasn't much light coming through my window; in fact, it was quite dark, with the only light source being the fairy lights around where my walls turned to the ceiling.

I slipped my hand from under the blankets and gently traced over his cheek, just going over the contours of Sherlock's face. His eyes opened after a moment to watch me, and I loved how full of color they were. There were blues, grays, a little gold, maybe some green... it was a fucking kaleidoscope in his irises.

I was about to let my hand drop, but he caught it and placed a kiss on my fingertips before he held it in his.

"You make me feel things..." He sighed very softly, and I smiled.

"How despicable of me." I teased and saw Sherlock smile a little.

"Yes, how dare you, Briar." He agreed, and I giggled a little.

"My sincerest apologies." I tried to hold the laughter back, but his smile and light eyes were making it hard.

But I then settled, and just gazed back at him, my head sinking into the pillow. "Uncomfortable things?"

"Very uncomfortable things." Sherlock nodded slightly.

"But good things?" I asked just a tad bit softer, and he smiled.

"Very good things."

I smiled back at him, having nothing else to say. Well, I guess one thing.

"You make me feel things, too," I said and watched his smile grow.

"I'm glad." Sherlock hummed before kissing me softly.

I asked him to stay with me for tonight, and he said he wasn't planning on leaving in the first place. He did make sure that I got up to eat and take my pills and all that shit, which had me feeling stuff, and soon enough we were back in my bed, curled up together, Sherlock pressing kisses to my head as I drifted.

Waking up with him in the morning as my alarm went off was even better. I turned to shut my phone up and turned back to Sherlock, and he brought me even closer to him than I was before. I chuckled a little and pressed my face into his chest, feeling his warm skin, smelling traces of laundry detergent and aftershave.

I was comfortable until Sherlock tipped his head down, and I felt something touch my ear. I was really confused at what the hell he was doing until I realized that was his tongue.

"Gross! Sherlock, no!" I groaned, trying to push him away, but I and my ninety-six pounds were not strong enough. "Sherlock, stop. It feels weird." I whined.

"Good." He hummed and kissed the shell of my ear before he pulled my hair back some and started to kiss behind my ear, trailing kisses slowly down my neck.

"Still feel weird?" He asked, lips brushing my skin, and I shook my head quickly. He hovered over me, making me grow excited, and disappeared under the covers, continuing to kiss down my body. His hands parted my thighs, and I bit my lip in anticipation.

I felt his breath across my skin, and his curls were tickling my inner thighs. And ever so slowly, Sherlock lowered his mouth onto me, dragging his tongue up my slit, which he had parted with his hands.

I squirmed a little, just because it felt so foreign to me, and I parted my legs a little wider as a sign for him to keep going.

Sherlock continued, licking from my hole to my clit, sometimes circling my clit, sometimes dipping into me. He pressed two fingers into me, curling to put pressure on my G spot as he licked over my clit, soon sucking on it.

I tried to control my moans, but the pressure was so good... he had me coming in no time.

Once Sherlock had licked it up (which had me blushing to no end), he came back up from under and gave me a cheeky smile with messy hair.

"Have fun?" I asked.

"Oh, loads." He nodded with a hum. "Though I don't think I'm quite satisfied yet."

My brows furrowed, and I propped myself up on my elbows. "What can I do?"

"Get yourself up to my room." He nodded upwards.

"Why?" I asked, confused.

"Because you don't want to make a mess, I do want to make a mess. And I certainly don't care if my room ends up messy, while I'd feel a tad guilty if yours was." He said, and I blushed a little, now knowing exactly what he wanted to do.

"Are you sure?" I bit my lip.

"Yes." He nodded and kissed me. "Come on. Up, up." He said and pulled on only his boxers and pants. I sighed and slipped on some panties and a giant ass T-shirt. Sherlock took my hand and lead me up, and we thankfully didn't run into Mrs. Hudson or John or someone.

Sherlock didn't even wait until his door was fully closed. He was already taking off my shirt, kissing me, and rubbing me over my underwear. I gasped in surprise, then moaned into the kiss as he rubbed exactly where he knew would have me ready to go instantly.

He took my panties off me and had me on his bed, propped up on his pillows. He was rubbing me, already making my thighs twitch, and sunk two fingers in.

"Relax," Sherlock said from next to me, kissing my cheek as he started to move his fingers, pumping them slightly.

"It's embarrassing..." I whimpered as he fingered me.

"It's not, love. I'm very intrigued, actually." He said to me, his fingers relaxing my muscles. "Ready?"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to relax. I nodded, and felt his fingers curl, pressing on that spot, and he stroked it with his fingers.

My breathing immediately became uneven, my hips shifting under his hands to deal with the pressure building up. He let me have a small break, then I felt his other hand slide over my pelvis. He pressed down lightly as he curled his fingers, and I gasped loudly, his name somewhere in the mix.

Surprising myself, I shifted his hand to the right spot, and he pressed down again with his palm, stroking my G spot. I swore and could feel myself dripping.

"Now what do you do?" Sherlock asked.

"Clit." I breathed and he focused his fingers on my clit, and I squirmed a little as the pressure became uncomfortable. I was breathing a lot faster, and moaning with almost every breath as he brought me closer and closer. I reminded myself to relax and told myself not to be embarrassed about anything.

Sherlock pressed harder with his fingers, and I made some sort of loud noise and squeezed my eyes shut and shook as I orgasmed under his fingers. Sherlock didn't stop rubbing me, though, not until every drop was out of me. When his fingers did leave me, I didn't dare look at the mess I made.

I breathed heavily and Sherlock left the room for a moment. He came back with some towels, and I blushed deeply when he lifted my hips and placed one under me.

"You were right, love. It was pretty messy." He hummed.

"I'm so sorry..." I looked away.

"No, no." Sherlock finished lying towels down and came over onto his bed with me, and he turned my face towards him. "No apologies."

I nodded slowly, and Sherlock brought me into a kiss, making me feel a little better.


	16. Chapter 16

December had come, which meant everyone's dick was all hard for Christmas. I didn't hate Christmas, but I didn't like it either.

My editor sent the novel back to me, some more notes on it, but less this time. So I dove myself into perfecting my creation, and sent it back after a week and a half, hoping I had done well enough.

I spent the rest of the month working on the new story and getting gifts for people.

Visiting 221B was hard, mainly because John and Mrs. Hudson loved Christmas. They decorated the flat, and John told me they were having friends over for Christmas, I should come.

"Oh," I said, somewhat surprised. "Uh, gonna have to pass, John, sorry. I'm not really a Christmassy kinda person, and I wouldn't want to bring down the mood for others." I declined with a little smile.

"What? You don't like Christmas?" He asked.

"Afraid not." I chuckled, shaking my head.

"How can you not like Christmas?"

There it was.

"Not everyone has to like everything." I shrugged, working on keeping my temper down.

"Well, yeah, but it's Christmas. You were excited for Halloween." John looked confused.

"Jesus, John, she said no, stop pushing it." Sherlock sighed from across the room. I was thankful he was stepping up for me but worried that he probably knew why I didn't like Christmas. He was Sherlock Holmes, after all.

I left their flat not long after that, and only returned the morning of Christmas Eve to drop off their presents. Their party was tonight, and I planned on locking myself in my flat for the next two days.

I spent the day working, just typing away, playing my own music so I could ignore the muffled Christmas music from two floors up. Like, yeah, it was two fucking floors, but I could still make out the tune of "We Wish You A Merry Christmas."

So I played these two albums on repeat, humming and singing along with some parts, sipping my tea from a huge ass mug, and snacking on chips.

There was a knock at my door, and I gave a small groan before turning the volume down and went to answer.

Sherlock stood there in his everyday suit, an armful of presents. "You wouldn't believe how many ugly Christmas jumpers are up there." He sighed as I let him in.

"What are those?" I asked as he set them in an armchair.

"Your presents." He said.

"Hm. Gross." I smiled and heard him chuckle. "Don't expect me to open them in front of you."

"Will you at least open this one?" He pulled a long, thin box from inside his suit jacket pocket.

I took it with a small smile and indulged him. Once I had the wrapping paper off, I lifted the lid off and my jaw dropped at the dainty, sparkling necklace that sat there.

"You like it?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes." I nodded and lifted the pendant for a closer look. It was plain, just a dainty little silver heart with a single jewel embedded in it. There was something bumpy on the back, so I turned it over and saw his initials engraved in the metal in what looked like his own handwriting.

"May I?" He asked softly, and I nodded, handing him the box, and he lifted the necklace out of it. I turned around and thankfully, my hair was already in a messy bun on the top of my head.

It was cold as he clasped it around my neck, and I wasn't surprised at all when his hands wrapped themselves around my waist and he began to place gentle little kisses on my neck. I just smiled and held his hands where they rested on me, and Sherlock trailed his kisses up to my ear.

"I thought there wasn't really anything better to get you than my heart." He hummed, and I turned in his arms to face him.

"You fucking sap..." I sighed before kissing him, then just hugged him. "Thank you. I'll take good care of it."

He knew I didn't mean the necklace.

"Have you opened my gift yet?" I asked him.

"I'm not a fan of opening presents in front of others, either, so not yet." Sherlock shook his head, and I only smirked.

"Fair enough." I hummed.

Sherlock held me a little tighter and groaned softly. "Why can't I just stay down here with you? It's so much calmer, not as many multicolored lights. Those things give me headaches, I swear."

"Do whatever you want, Sherlock." I shrugged.

"John says I have to be up there and an active friend." He rolled his eyes, and I chuckled.

"You could tell him you want to spend our first Christmas together, or some cheesy bullshit like that." I offered.

"I would, but he'd tell it's scripted." Sherlock sighed, then looked at me, and smiled. "What do I care, though? Be back in a moment." He kissed my forehead and went back up.

I smiled to myself, threw away the wrapping paper, and turned the volume back up, singing along softly as I made him a cup of tea.

" _Orange juice_  
 _Pour out half the carton_  
 _Grey Goose_  
 _Pour it, get it started_  
 _Good times_  
 _Remedy your sorrows_  
 _Baptize_  
 _Don't worry about tomorrow..._ "

Sherlock must've come back while I was distracted, just humming to myself, and he scared me a little when his hand slid over my back.

So we spent the time curled up together, talking about pointless things, my background music still playing. I had saved my work on my laptop and closed it, setting it aside.

I thought about even if Sherlock knew why I didn't like Christmas, or even if he just had some idea as to why (because I highly doubted he knew the whole story), he didn't bring it up once with me.

I almost wanted to thank him for not talking about it, not trying to dig more out of me, but the butterflies in my stomach were too intense to say anything. So instead, I just leaned forward and caught his lips in a kiss.

Sherlock shut up and kissed me back, pulling back for a moment to set his mug down safely, then caught my cheeks and continued to kiss me.

It might've been one of the best kisses to date.


	17. Chapter 17

After New Year's, my editor said everything looked perfect to her, should she send it to my agent, and I said fuck, yes. Now my agent just had to get in contact with the publishers, the publishers would work shit out but have to get my approval on the cover design, page look, all that good shit. I couldn't wait to get the first printed version to look over so we could get to release.

I went onto Daisy's twitter and tweeted some lyrics that summed up one of the two main characters very well; "I hate you, I love you, I hate that I love you. Don't want to, but I can't put nobody else above you."

So the fans ate that shit up and began theorizing.

I just really fucking enjoyed writing cryptic tweets to keep them all scrambling. Sometimes, they weren't even cryptic. Sometimes it was just stuff I left unexplained, or with no meaning whatsoever.

I just liked to keep them all on their toes.

Sherlock had finally found a connection between the victims; each of them came from an abusive household. He only found this out by looking at charges of their parents and grandparents, aunts, and uncles, cousins, you name it, and when a good portion of those matched up, he checked hospital records of other family members and the victims and found injuries that were from physical or sexual abuse, or just marked unknown, meaning they didn't say how they got the injury.

For a good while after that, I caught him giving me worried glances, but I just brushed it off. He didn't say anything about it though, and I was thankful.

Fucking sue me, I didn't like talking about that shit.

I thought I was safe because I didn't really go anywhere. I thought I was safe because I had Sherlock by my side.

I forgot that I'm fucking dumb.

I got out of a cab to walk a block or so to a grocery store for more tea, chips, and I made all the fries I had, so more of those.

Someone came up beside me, and I tried to walk a little faster to get away, but they grabbed my arm.

"Don't make this harder for yourself. Just get in the car quietly." A quiet voice said.

"Yeah, fuck that." I huffed and started to throw a fist, but he caught it and pointed a gun at me with his other hand, dark brown eyes glaring at me as a scarf covered the rest of his face.

"Shoot me then." I glared right back. "Go on, you pussy."

"No." He said and opened a car door behind me as he tucked the gun away. "I want you to kill yourself."

And with that, he pushed me in, then traded spots with the driver, who he handed a small wad of bills to, and said driver just walked off like it was nothing.

He started to drive us off, and I unlocked my phone in my coat pocket, typing out a text to Sherlock that I'd been kidnapped. I then pulled down the drop menu and silenced my phone, and turned on my data and location so he could track me a bit easier.

Now I just had to stall for time, which I'm very good at.

He brought us to this closed bowling alley, and lead me inside, and I just looked around in disgust.

"I don't even like bowling," I said as he sat us at a table.

"Good." He said and sat down, taking his beanie and scarf off, setting the gun on the table. "Keeps the police on their toes, yeah? Having bodies in places they would never normally be."

"So is this where you explain your evil plan?" I pursed my lips and sat back, undoing my coat as it seemed I would be here for a while.

"Sure, why not." He chuckled and gave a smile. Overall, he was a pretty plain guy. You wouldn't pick him out in a crowd. Sure, I guess he was good looking, but nothing too special.

"You and me, we're the same, you know." He nodded, licking his lips slightly.

"Are we now?" I asked, and he nodded more.

"Mhm. The punching bags of our families. Well, you were more of an emotional punching bag. I was an actual punching bag." He said, then his eyes flickered to my forehead. "Ah, but you have your share of scars, too. Lemme guess, beer bottle?" He pointed to a small vertical scar on my forehead, only about a centimeter and a half long.

"Whiskey." I corrected, and he nodded.

"It's usually one of the two. Though I had a girl some weeks ago who said hers were from vodka bottles." He said, and I just crossed my arms and sighed, looking away.

"Oh, you're one of those who buries it down and doesn't talk about it." He hummed. "You should, Briar. You should talk about it." He nodded.

"Nah, I'm Irish. We don't talk about shit." I shook my head, and he laughed.

"That's cute. That's really cute, Briar. But people like you and I, we have to talk about it. We have to get it off our chests. All that anger, all those feelings about what they did to us. So you're going to talk about it." He gave me a sort of warning look.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Thomas."

"Okay, well, here's the thing, Thomas. I really don't care about whatever your family did to you. Like, sorry they fucked you up, but other than that, don't care. Also, I haven't been in contact with my family in fucking years, so that ship has been sailed." I sighed. "So, now that we know how little I care, fuck off."

He raised the gun and pointed it at me again, and I just sighed disappointedly. "You're still affected, though. You still have the temper, you still have the rage. You still get upset over some things."

He then smiled. "I would know. I feel the same way. We all feel the same way."


	18. Chapter 18

We sat there for minutes on end in silence because I still didn't speak.

"It was your daddy, right? Scott?" He hummed, and I just stared. "Hell of a man, your dad. He's been getting arrested since he hit double digits. So many DUI's, a bunch of drug busts, multiple assault charges... a restraining order put in place by your mother. Which he broke, on... whoo. On several occasions."

He was looking at his phone, and I continued to stare.

"But this is interesting. I actually found this really interesting, Briar. Because, usually, kids who's parents beat them around usually become abusers themselves. And yeah, there's a rare case here and there where they're good people." He hummed. "Your mom is that rare case, isn't she?"

My stare then turned into a glare.

"Let's see here... Grandpa was a soldier, oh, so he was already fucked up a little. He tossed around your Grandma and mom, beat his sons a bit... he do the same to you?" He looked up at me, curious. "No hospital records after the eighties... did he just get too old to throw a punch?"

I was slightly shaking with anger, but still was trying to keep it together. I pressed my lips together tightly and saw him grin, and that grin made me want to slap him.

I didn't, because that's exactly what he wanted.

"Come on, Briar. Tell me all about it. You're just bursting at the seams."

I let out a shaky breath, giving in, though I really didn't want to.

"Yeah, he got too old, too fat. He could still yell, though." I started.

"He yelled at you?" Thomas asked.

"No, he yelled at Grandma in front of me." I shook my head. "After mom got the two of us away from my dad, she was to work full time to support us, and I was too young to go to school. So I stayed with my Grandparents until she was done working to take me home."

"What kind of example does that set for a kid, hm?" He sighed chin in his palm. "Did your Grandpa do anything else? It seems like he did something else."

I looked away to blink away the burn in my eyes. "Mom always said since he was a soldier, he grew up talking to women a certain way. He really didn't know how else to speak to them. It was the forties and fifties, I don't think anyone knew how to speak to a female like a human being." I gave a sarcastic little laugh.

"He didn't," Thomas said in horror, and I nodded slowly, blinking hard, not able to stop those tears. "Jesus, what a sicko. How old were you?"

"Uh, he died when I was fourteen, so since I was four." I sniffed and looked back at him.

"Four?!" His eyes bugged, and he sat back, sighing deeply. "I am so sorry to hear that. I mean, I hear stories of fathers, grandfathers, uncles, cousins, and brothers being inappropriate with the girls I've talked to, but none of them started that young."

"I mean, he never touched me..." I started.

"But still," Thomas said.

"But still." I nodded slowly.

"What about your dad? You were his emotional punching bag, weren't you?" He asked.

"I wasn't even that." I crossed my arms on the table and put my chin on them as a new wave of tears came to my eyes, and my lip began to wobble.

"Oh, he neglected you." Thomas sighed in understanding. "So not only did you have to witness Grandpa yell at Grandma, and daddy beat up mommy, but he also neglected you? Damn."

"I'm not even sure you could call it neglect." I blew out air shakily. "He didn't even want me to exist."

I then looked up at Thomas and met his somewhat shocked eyes. "Do you even know what that feels like? To not be wanted?"

He didn't get a chance to answer, because the door opened and Lestrade with a bunch of officers came in. I tucked my face into my arm, not wanting anybody to see me in the state I was in.

He was arrested and taken away, and a familiar hand smoothed over my back. Sherlock told John to go help out, then he knelt by me.

"Briar? Love, can you look at me?" He asked softly. I raised my head slightly and peeked at him, and saw the worry in his eyes.

"I was so worried, love. Are you alright? He didn't hurt you, did he?" Sherlock held my arm, and I shook my head slowly. I turned to face him in the chair but kept my head down as I tried to get a grip on myself.

"Can you tell me what happened?" He held onto my hands, and I lost what I had regained of myself and new, hot tears spilled down my cheeks.

_Do you even know what it feels like to not be wanted?_

My words just kept echoing in my mind as I cried, and Sherlock was just trying his best to comfort me.

"Hey, listen, love. How about we get you home, we'll get you lots of tea and ice cream, and I promise you, I will be right by your side. You can use me as a pillow, a blanket, whatever you want. Sound good?" Sherlock said softly to me, and I cracked a smile and nodded.

"I am out of tea, though," I said softly back to him, and Sherlock was just smiling at my smile.

"Oh no. John, you need to get to the store, it's urgent." He turned around to look at John, and John looked a little panicked.

"What? What is it?" He asked.

"Briar's out of tea," Sherlock said, and I gave a shaky laugh at him, wiping under my eyes as I sniffled.

John just gave a small smile. "Urgent? Sherlock, that's a catastrophe."

"It's the apocalypse." Sherlock shook his head, and I was soon smiling widely at the two of them trying to cheer me up. John kissed my head before he went off, and Sherlock got my coat back on me and kept me close to him.

"Uh, Sherlock, I need to take her down and get the story..." Lestrade started.

"Does she look like she's in any state to be interrogated?" Sherlock snapped at him, and I flinched slightly under his arm, and Sherlock rubbed my arm comfortingly.

He got me out of there, and I was breathing easier when we got to my flat. I got my phone out of my pocket and turned off my data and location, turned the ringer back on. Sherlock and I both slid our coats off, and I went to get changed into something comfy and clean my face.

John came to drop my tea off, which I thanked him for, and went off to make. Sherlock said something to him that I couldn't quite hear, and John left not long after.

Sherlock joined me in the kitchen, hugging me from behind. "So, what are we doing?"

"Movies. Cuddles." I hummed. "The usual."

We were soon situated on my sofa with the lights off, the only light from the TV, where I finally had Sherlock watch The Dark Knight.

"You ever read The Brother's Karamazov?" I asked as it started.

"Yes." Sherlock hummed.

"The Dark Knight is The Grand Inquisitor, but with a clown, a bat, and a lawyer," I said.

"What?" Sherlock just sounded confused, and I shushed him as the clowns that were going to rob a bank and kill each other one by one appeared on the screen.

Around halfway through, I turned myself around to face Sherlock, putting my face in his neck.

"You're not even watching it." He chuckled.

"I know it by heart." I hummed, then spoke the next line at the same time as the character who said it.

"Okay, but still..." Sherlock tried.

"Shh. You watch, I cuddle." I said, and he turned his head and placed a kiss on my hair, and held me a little tighter to him.

"You're impossible, Briar." Sherlock sighed, and I only smiled as I closed my eyes and relaxed, content with being close to him.


	19. Chapter 19

Sherlock was an amazing cuddler, and I know he would never admit, but I was pretty sure he loved being close to me just as much as I loved being close to him.

I plucked up the strength and told Lestrade what happened at the bowling alley, leaving out details of what I said. He asked, and I said it wasn't important. So he tried again, I said it was my business, butt out.

"I called it. Psychopath." Donavan said loudly once I left Lestrade's office. "I see it now, all the signs are there. Short temper, aggressive, violent language."

I pressed my lips together and went over to her, and both she and Anderson looked surprised I was reacting.

"That's really rich, coming from you. If I had to guess, I'd bet that daddy didn't give you enough attention, so you're a thirsty, desperate, little slut who doesn't care if who you're sleeping with is married. Nah, you don't give a shit. As long as all eyes in the room are on you, and some dude's load is on your face, you're happy." I shook my head at her. "I hope you have good insurance for all the infections you must be getting."

Her jaw dropped, and the place was silent.

"You really wanna test my temper, my aggression, my language?" I asked, and saw her clench her jaw.

"At least my grandpa didn't have the hots for me." She hissed, and I glared at her.

"Donavan." Anderson hissed, trying to pull her back. "Stop it."

"At least my dad actually wanted me." She said a little louder.

I imagined myself taking her jaw in my hand and pulling until it broke. I imagined myself kicking in her stomach until she pissed blood. I imagined myself taking her by the curls and slamming her face into the wall until her skull cracked.

I didn't even notice a pair of warm hands pulling me back and leading me away. Not until a door shut in front of me, and I blinked, snapped out of my violent trance.

I turned and saw Sherlock and John looking at me worriedly. I clenched my jaw, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets.

"'M betting we can't kill her?" I sighed and saw Sherlock smile.

"Afraid not." He said, leading us away.

"We can't just... I don't know, cut out her tongue or something? Knock out some teeth? Rearrange the vocal cords a bit?" I asked.

"No, sorry, love." Sherlock hummed.

"She's a Sergeant. Not much can be done." John sighed.

I sighed, pursing my lips, and kept my thoughts to myself. We got to 221, and Sherlock came with me into my flat. Once our coats were off, he took my hands in his and made me face him.

"I told you to ignore her." He said softly.

"I told you I had a temper." I stared up into those blue eyes.

"I see that." He chuckled and kissed my forehead.

"Hear me out," I started. "What if we hired a hitman? Not to kill her, but like, have him pose as a mugger and rough her up a little. Hm?" I gave him hopeful eyes.

"That's illegal, love." Sherlock smiled and pecked my lips.

"So?" I shrugged. "I'm sure with your intelligence, it'd be impossible to be caught doing anything."

Sherlock smiled, squeezing my hands. "No hitmen."

"Fine." I pouted, and he kissed it away. I dropped his hands to wrap around his neck and I brought myself up on my toes, keeping our lips together.

"I can't tell if you're trying to convince me about the hitmen or not." He pulled back to say, and I laughed a little.

"Nah, it was a stupid idea anyway." I rolled my eyes. "But if you don't want me to kiss you, okay." I hummed and started to step away, but Sherlock pulled me back to him, leaving no space between us. I grinned and raised myself back up on my toes, joining us together again.

A minute later, Sherlock pulled back again. "Okay, now I don't know if you want sex or not." He said, and I laughed a little. "Because I'm happy to provide, love, I just don't want to misread signals."

I pecked his lips and got a grip on his shoulders. "Catch," I said and he looked confused before I jumped, wrapping my legs around his waist, and he caught me, supporting me at my thighs and ass. Sherlock pressed my back to a wall and kissed me a bit deeper, now rolling his hips into my core, filling me with butterflies immediately.

Once it began to get heated, I thought about asking him if he wanted me. I then realized that was probably a stupid question, as it would only make him question me. And it's not like I could lie to Sherlock, he would know.

He brought me to my bed and stripped me quickly, getting his shirt off before he got impatient and dove his head between my legs.

I moaned loudly in surprise, my hand falling to his curls. He was eating me out like he meant to drive me crazy. I was just a squirming, moaning mess beneath Sherlock, my fingers gripping his curls as I got closer and closer.

Sherlock didn't let me come on his tongue, though. He undid his pants and sunk into me, looking completely wild and sexy above me with his hair messed up and lips glistening.

It wasn't exactly a quickie, but Sherlock did make quick work of making me come. He wasn't far behind me, and lied beside me, pulling me close as he always did.

Before I rested my head on him, I raised my head and turned his face to mine, and gave him a slow, long appreciative kiss. I poured my feelings and everything I couldn't make myself say into it. Sherlock just kissed me back with just as much earnest, just as much feeling.

When we parted, I put my head on his shoulder, letting my arm hug him softly.

"Rest. I'll be here." Sherlock rubbed my back, and I almost teared up as I closed my eyes where I lay with him, comfortable as can be.


	20. Chapter 20

I had approved everything with this latest book, so it was ready to publish and release, and I was told the date it would be in stores so I could tell fans. So I was really happy, but also for another reason.

Sherlock had given in to something in him and had to be touching me whenever I was around. He kept it down if anyone was else was near, but if we were alone, he was on my heels like a lost puppy.

Some of my favorite times were when he was entering his mind palace. If he knew he was going to be away a couple hours, he had me sit on his lap. Sometimes I dozed off and took a little nap, so it'd be me curled up in his lap, asleep with my head on shoulder, and Sherlock as still as a statue. Sometimes he'd be back when I woke up, sometimes I'd wake before then.

But right now was a time when he just couldn't keep his hands to himself. I had spent the night in 221B with him, and was now in their bathroom, brushing my teeth with the toothbrush I brought, because running between apartments was bullshit.

Sherlock came in and stood behind me, wrapping his arms around me after tucking some hair behind my ears. I narrowed my eyes at him in the mirror, but he ignored me as he placed tiny kisses along the shell of my ear.

I couldn't help but smile a little, mainly because he had grown so affectionate with me, and I fucking loved it.

"Sherlock..." I started with a mouthful of foamy toothpaste. "Do you want me to choke?"

Sherlock gave a sigh, and just followed me when I leaned down to spit and rinse my mouth. He licked up the shell and blew gently on it before he nibbled and sucked on my earlobe.

I was giggling as I stood normally again and heard him give a small chuckle. "Morning, love." He hummed into my ear.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Morning, Sherlock." I sighed and went back to his room to get properly dressed, unaware of the two stunned men in the living room.

It wasn't until we went down to the kitchen when I noticed John and Mycroft there.

"Morning, John. Mycroft, leave." Sherlock said as we went in, and I started on some tea to hide my wide eyes and blush.

"I'm not here for you. I'm here for Miss Pitch." His brother's posh voice said and I turned with a very high-pitched 'hm?'

"A word, please." He smiled, and I followed him out and down the stairs to the front door.

"I assume my brother has already spoken to you about the offer I am going to make?" He asked.

"Offer?" I was confused.

"I'm willing to pay for regular updates on Sherlock. Just how he's doing. If he's clean and whatnot." Mycroft hummed, and I remembered the offer we talked about, but I was even more confused.

"Clean? What do you mean clean?" I asked, my eyes slightly widening.

Mycroft stared at me for a moment. "Oh, you don't know. How awkward." He hummed. "I'm sure Sherlock will fill you in later. Now, what do you say?"

I couldn't focus on money right now, as my mind was racing, the adrenaline making me anxious. I gathered my thoughts enough to form a few sentences.

"Um, I have to do a thing... just uh, I'll call you later." I nodded and Mycroft raised his eyebrow but nodded, wished me luck, and left.

I remained standing there after the door closed, not sure what to do. I wasn't stupid, I knew what clean meant in this sense, I guess I just wasn't expecting it. At least to me, Sherlock doesn't seem like the type of person who'd use drugs.

This just brought up more questions. What did he use? How often? Is he just using, or is he abusing?

Fuck, this is just more reckless behavior. I should be expecting it at this point. I don't know why I'm surprised.

No, I know exactly why I'm surprised. Shit, I'm anxious as hell at learning this. Sherlock's never hurt me, and I believed he wouldn't. But what if I became blind, just like my mom did, and one day I'd wake up to his half wasted away body overpowering me? A skeletal face with rotten teeth and red, angry eyes from the high screaming in my face?

I closed my eyes and took a breath to clear the memories from my mind.

A hand met my arm, and I jumped internally, but just looked over and saw Sherlock looking at me in worry.

"Are you alright? What happened?" He asked softly, and I just blinked, no idea where to start. "What did he say to you?"

I took an inaudible shaky breath. "When were you going to tell me about the drugs, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed softly, and his hand slipped down my arm to my hand to hold it. "I haven't done anything in months, Briar..."

"When were you going to tell me?" I demanded in a harder voice, and his eyes dropped like he was ashamed.

"I was planning to, I was. But with recent events..." He started.

"My kidnapping, you mean," I said, and his eyes met mine again.

"Briar, that man made you relive times you don't talk about ever. I wasn't going to just go and make it worse for you." He defended.

"Well, too fucking bad." There was no sympathy in my voice. I closed my mouth, clenching my jaw. How badly I wanted to scream in his face, to just spill why I'm upset over this. And oh, how I just wanted to cry.

He turned, tugging my hand, and I followed him up to his flat, then I dropped his hand to sit angrily on the couch and just stare as he paced. John was peeking from the kitchen, but I couldn't make myself care right now.

"You haven't used anything in months?" I asked, and Sherlock looked at me and nodded. I stared at him for another moment, then stood up and went over, grabbing his wrists and beginning to undo the buttons on his jacket sleeves and cuffs.

"You better not be lying to me," I said as I rolled his sleeves and checked his inner arms, looking for even a healed needle mark.

"I'm not," Sherlock said softly. I dropped his arms, and he began fixing his sleeves, and I started to look for any signs in his eyes.

"If you even think about lying to me about any of this shit..." I couldn't help my voice breaking a little at the end.

"I wouldn't. I swear, I would never." He held my arms gently in his hands. He leaned down slightly to be eye level with me, and he could easily see me tearing up.

"I can't go through that again, Sherlock," I whispered shakily, my tears still making my voice break.

Sherlock's eyes softened, and he pulled me into a hug, holding me very close and very tight.


	21. Chapter 21

My book was released not long after that, and I had the bright idea of posting a Tweet asking for questions people wanted to ask me, which I would post answers to on my website.

So people got excited about that. I've never really asked for questions with a promise to answer them before.

John had gotten two copies of my newest book (one was for Sherlock), and I was given a copy, as I was the author after all.

John had gotten Sherlock to read both previous books before this one came out, and now both of them were reading it. So while they were doing that, I collected questions from Twitter that I could answer, and typed them all into a Word document to answer and post later.

I had a bit of fun gathering the questions, which got more and more absurd as people read the last book.

Sam kept sending me headlines she found of reviews of my book, all of which were incredibly amusing. A lot of 'is she okay' and 'should we get her help' floating around.

I decided to stop stalling and answer some questions, and relaxed on my sofa, ready to start typing, but decided to check Twitter one last time. I then saw one that had me laughing.

"Can we make Sherlock Holmes discover your true identity?"

I smirked and decided to answer that one on Twitter by saying, "I have him sworn to secrecy."

Did I mind if Sherlock found out I was Daisy Gray? Not really. I knew he'd keep his mouth shut. But John and Mrs. Hudson? Yeah, that's a no there.

I then finally got to work on the questions, some I answered seriously, some jokingly.

A lot of people asked if I got nightmares, to which I said no, I don't really dream that much at all. Maybe only once or twice a month.

I got asked if I listened to anything while writing. I said yes, and it was a lot of Alternative, Indie, and Hardcore. Though some days I just listened to piano music.

To the questions asking about childhood trauma, I said, "Why does everyone think I had a traumatic childhood?" And left that there.

I got a couple questions about my writing process, to which I said, "There is no continuity in my process. Sometimes it'll take me a month just to write three chapters, sometimes it'll take only a week to crank out forty. It just depends."

I got so many on what my inspiration was this time around. I smiled as I typed out, "Not going to spoil anything and answer this directly. But I will say that my current boyfriend and I got into a huge fight where I locked myself in my flat for a little over a week and used all my rage to write this. Right after I sent it to my editor, we made up and everything's fine."

That was the truth.

The last one I answered was how do I think up such plots and characters and scenarios like I do?

"I'm just really fucked up."

I looked over it, did a little tweaking, then copy and pasted it to post onto my website, then copied the URL for the post and tweeted it.

Now as people scrambled over that, I checked up on the Sherlock tweet and saw a lot of screaming in the replies.

I smirked, and my phone buzzed. I picked it up and saw a text from Mycroft simply saying "interesting work."

I snorted and typed back a quick thank you, before closing out of Twitter and closing my laptop and getting up to find something to snack on.

I heated up a frozen burger and got myself a soda to drink. I brought Netflix up on my phone and watched as I ate, and almost as if on cue, there was a knock on my door.

"Yeah!" I called as I put my plate in the sink and Sherlock came in and gave me a very odd look.

"You okay?" I asked, brows furrowing together.

"Are you?" He asked, then held up my book.

I just gave a small smile. "I knew you'd get it. And yes, I'm fine." I nodded.

He set the book down on the island and caught my face, studying my face. "I'm almost cautious to not have sex with you anymore..."

"Oh my God, Sherlock." I sighed and rolled my eyes, going to turn away from him, but he didn't let me.

"I said almost." He hummed, tipping my head back. He kissed me softly, and I smiled just a little as I stretched up on my toes, kissing him back.

"Months we've been together. I don't know how I never noticed." He breathed when we parted slightly.

"You did say I did all my work from home, and all of it on a laptop." I gave him partial credit.

"Are you working on anything now?" He asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"Can I know?"

"No."

"Why not?" He pouted, fingers slipping through my belt loops to tug me back to him.

"Because I said so." I smiled and pressed my lips to his again. Sherlock soon lifted me to set me on the island, and I let my fingers lace through his hair as we kissed.

I much preferred this over stressing over his drug use and crying anyway.

I let my lips part, and Sherlock pushed closer to me as we kissed deeper. I wasn't entirely sure where he intended this to go, or even if he intended for it to go somewhere.

"What are you thinking?" I breathed when I had the chance.

"Things," Sherlock replied, his fingers digging into my back as he went to kiss my jaw and behind my ear.

"Like?" I asked as I held his shoulders.

"I'm not telling you." He mumbled against my skin.

"What? Why not?" I asked, frowning.

"Because I said so. It's a surprise." He chuckled lowly before licking up the shell of my ear, making me shiver.

"I hate surprises." I huffed.

Sherlock straightened up. "I know," He grinned and kissed me softly one more time.

"Look at you, Briar. Getting me all inspired." He hummed and I pushed his arm softly, making him chuckle as I mumbled 'sap.'


	22. Chapter 22

I had fucking jinxed myself.

I answered that question that I don't have nightmares, I only dream once or twice a month, and look at me go, I dreamed last night. But it wasn't only a dream, no. It was a fucking nightmare.

I considered going up to 221B and crawling into Sherlock's bed, but I couldn't make myself, something in me convincing me that he would find me pathetic. Or John would overhear something and he'd think I was pathetic.

So I didn't bother getting out of bed as I tried to forget the red-tinged icy blue eyes and cold looks with deep-set frowns, but in my efforts I only let them consume me.

_Do you even know what it feels like to not be wanted?_

I told myself I should focus on the people who do want me... Sam, John, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock... but do they really? Do they really want me around? What's really so special about me?

It didn't get better when I recognized Sherlock's footsteps coming in, and towards my room. Why didn't I lock the door? My bedroom door creaked open, and I just turned and curled myself up tighter under the blankets, hiding.

"Love? What are you doing? Are you alright?" Sherlock left the door open so there was a little light, and came over and sat on the bed. His hand met my back over the blankets, and I didn't bother answering. I didn't want him seeing me like this, looking this pathetic, this... this needy.

That's what I was. Needy. I'm fucking needy and I demand so much from people... Why am I such an awful person?

"Briar, answer me," Sherlock said, and I just mumbled out a no. "Briar." He sighed, and I groaned out a louder no.

"Love, just talk to me. Tell me what's going on." He tried.

"Why are you even here?" I asked, and felt him pause for a second.

"I'm here because it's the middle of the afternoon, and I usually see you much earlier, so I came down to check on you because I was worried about you," Sherlock said.

"Why?" I asked, hoping the thick blankets hid my sniffle. "Why worry?"

"Because I care about you." Sherlock sounded a little confused.

"But why?" I asked, and received no answer. Instead, Sherlock grabbed the blankets and ripped them off me, then sat me up and made me look at him. There was no hiding my tears now.

"Briar, love, where is this coming from? Don't tell me you think I don't care about you." He spoke softly, and I felt his breath just brush over my skin from how close he was. I only sniffed and wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, not answering once again.

His hand came up and he touched my cheek very gently as a new wave of tears filled my eyes. "Please tell me what you're thinking. Please."

I shook my head. "You'll think I'm pathetic," I said thickly.

"I don't think that. I'd never think that." Sherlock swore, tucking a bit of hair behind my ear. "Love, please."

I blinked and felt the tears fall, then just closed my eyes, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to see the face he'd give me.

"Do you know what it feels like to not be wanted?" I said softly and got no reply. "For someone you thought loved you, and you thought you loved them, to tell you that your existence was a mistake, you should have never been born?"

"Who told you this?" Sherlock barely whispered as his thumb traced my cheek.

"My dad," I answered, sniffling again. "I was twelve, and he was sober. Mom had a restraining order for both of us, but he broke it constantly to ask her for money. I always thought he wanted to visit me, and he let me believe that, until one day he didn't." I let my shoulders fall limp.

Sherlock didn't say anything, he just brushed my tears away. I couldn't make myself say anymore, it would kill me.

"Briar," Sherlock started gently. "Briar, look at me, love." He tilted my face up slightly, and I forced my eyes open, seeing his concerned face.

"Listen," He held both of my cheeks in his hands. "He's an idiot, a complete airhead for not seeing how much you're worth."

"Stop-" I tried, but Sherlock wouldn't let me.

"No. No, you need to hear this, you need to listen to me and understand what I'm saying, okay?" He gave me a somewhat stern look. "That moron does not matter. He only matters because you make him matter. If your existence meant nothing to him, why should his mean anything to you?"

I blinked a few times, sniffing a little softer, and Sherlock softened and wiped my cheeks again.

"My love, I want you. John wants you, Mrs. Hudson wants you, and your friend, whatever her name is-" Sherlock said.

"Sam." I could help but smile a little.

"Sam, yes. Her. She wants you. All your readers want you. You matter to us." He said, looking deep into my eyes. "Do you understand me?"

I nodded slowly. "But I'm not worth-"

"Yes, you are, my love. Yes, you are." Sherlock put his forehead on mine. "Don't you dare doubt your worth, not even for a second. You're worthy of all the love and care in the world tenfold. You deserve every happiness, Briar, and nothing less." He leaned back a little and kissed my forehead.

"Why do you care?" I asked, my voice not as broken as it was before.

"Because I love you." Sherlock hummed, and my heart leaped into my throat.

"You're just saying that." I shook my head, though I wanted to believe it badly.

"I'm not. I'll prove it." Sherlock said and stared into my eyes as he lifted one of my hands and placed it on his chest, above his heart.

It was beating faster than it normally would. Since he was tall, a larger human being, his heartbeat should be slower. But here it was, a steady rhythm pounding against my palm.

"I've been meaning to tell you, I just... didn't know how." He admitted very softly.

I took a small breath, keeping my hand to his chest. "You're sure you love me?" I asked.

"Positively." Sherlock nodded, and I little smile broke out across my face. I let my hand slide up to bring my arms around his neck, and Sherlock hugged me back, his hands sliding across my back.

"I love you, too," I said softly, then hid my face in his neck. Sherlock's hands paused on my back before he squeezed me a little tighter.

"Have you gotten out of bed today?" He asked suddenly like he remembered something, and I looked at him and shook my head.

"It's... almost four in the afternoon, and you haven't eaten today?" His eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

"I was sort of busy... you know, crying." I shrugged.

"Briar..." He sighed and kissed my forehead again before he stood up, taking me with him, and leading me to my kitchen.

"Go. Make food. Eat. Or should I make it for you?" Sherlock suddenly wondered, and I smiled wide and stretched up on my toes and kissed his cheek.

"I've got it. Go pick something to watch." I said, and he gave my hand a squeeze before he walked to the TV, and I opened the freezer with a stupid little smile on my face.


	23. Chapter 23

Sherlock didn't say he loved me again. At least not directly. For the next month or so, he'd ask if I'd eaten, if I was drinking enough, how was I feeling that day... Just all the things that made me smile and proved to me that he did care about me and he did want me.

He loved me.

I was right now sitting on the floor with a cup of tea between Sherlock's legs as he sat in his chair. My hair was in a high ponytail on my head, and he was just playing with it as he thought about a case he was working.

I sipped tea as I wrote in my head, planning out sentences and paragraphs to type later, running them over multiple times so they were perfect and I wouldn't forget them.

Once I got bored with that, I leaned back a little further, staring into space, and I thought up something new to write. Let's see, the third was like Lolita meets SAW meets Gone Girl, and the one I was working on now was Slaughterhouse Five meets The Killing Joke meets Split. I'm thinking this new one is... SAW meets... 1984... meets my third book.

The third book was about a girl who's had a crush on this guy for a long time. She's not entirely right in the head and convinces herself to break into his house. He catches her and turns out he's not right in the head, either, and keeps her as his prisoner. The story is told in the girl's perspective and how she struggles with wanting to be free from the nightmare she wound up in and wanting to devote herself fully to this guy's every wish. And I'm being indelicate when I mean "fully."

The one I'm working on now, which I might honestly just abandon at this point because my ideas for it are running thin, dude starts having this identity crisis when he finds out he's adopted, and his parents changed his name when he was little. He somehow works it into his head that the name he had before it was changed is a complete another person, a whole other identity. The story switches back and forth between identities and reality and hallucination/imagination, but I've written it so that you can't possibly tell what's actually going on.

But this new one? So much better than the other, if I do say so myself. Five people wake up in a room, chained up, no exit, and they've never seen each other before in their entire lives. There's a screen, though, that says all of their lives are connected somehow, and they'd be playing games and figuring out along the way exactly how they're all connected. Like, I'm thinking one person disfigured someone's family member permanently, another one of them lead one of the other's siblings to suicide... fucked up shit like that. So, SAW with the games, 1984 with them being watched and controlled by a disembodied entity, and my third book because I may just add some sex in there just to make it interesting and freak people out.

I heard my name being said, and I snapped back into the present, seeing Sherlock leaning down, his face next to mine.

"Thinking hard there?" He gave me a tiny smile.

"Yeah." I chuckled and sipped my tea, which had gone cold, and I scrunched my nose up at it.

"I'll get you another." Sherlock took my mug and stood up, stepping over me. I smiled and slipped up into his chair, taking out my phone and making a new note, typing everything out so I didn't forget anything.

I set my phone down when Sherlock came back over, and he set my tea down and lifted me, sat down, then set me in his lap. I smiled as his arms came around me to hold me in place, and I lifted my mug.

"You sure my bony ass won't start stabbing your leg?" I smiled before blowing on the steaming tea, then took a sip.

"You do not have a bony ass." Sherlock rolled his eyes at me. "I've spent enough time staring at it and feeling it to know it's not." He said, and I laughed a little as I set the mug back down to let it cool off a bit.

"So what were you thinking so hard about?" He asked, his fingers tracing a line up and down one of my thighs. Not to be sexual, just to touch.

"Fucked up shit." I smiled.

"Fun, like what?" He asked, and I gave him a little look. "Oh, come on, Briar. You never know. Maybe I can help."

I pursed my lips. Okay, maybe I would need a little help with figuring out which character did what to each other.

"I need to draw a diagram," I said and he reached over, handing me a pen, and then a pad of paper. I drew five circles, and wrote A, B, C, D, and E in each of them, then off to the side, wrote the letters with little colons beside them, for descriptions I haven't come up with yet.

"Five people. Never met each other before, yet their lives are connected." I said and began drawing lines. "Person A did something that affected person D. Person D did something to affect person C. Person C did something to affect person B, person B to person E, and person E back to A. It goes full circle," I said, and Sherlock nodded in understanding.

"I plan for them all to be crimes, and I have a few ideas of what those crimes may be, but I haven't decided yet about who does what to who." I bit my lip as I looked down at the paper.

"I think... I'll get the characters flushed out first, and maybe you can help me decide on crimes?" I offered and he gave me a smile.

"Sounds fun." He said and gave me a little kiss. I set the pad and pen aside, not done with him yet. Sherlock happily kissed me again, and my feet swung a little out of happiness.

"Look at you, you're so happy." He chuckled.

"Am I not allowed to be?" I pouted.

"No, I'm glad you're happy." He touched my cheek softly. "Knowing you're happy makes me happy."

"Sap." I grinned and kissed him again. "Are you happy?" I asked when I pulled back.

"Extremely." Sherlock gave me a smile, and I put my forehead on his.

"We're not being too sappy, are we?" I whispered and saw him smile a bit wider.

"We could be sappier and have a bit of fun on the couch." Sherlock shrugged.

"I swear, half of the things you say are to get into my pants." I laughed as he just smiled.

"It works, doesn't it?" He hummed.

"I don't know..." I hummed teasingly. "Now that I've told you I'm aware of your tactics..."

Sherlock gave me a little warning look with his eyes. "I will actually take you on the couch. Or maybe in John's chair. Leave a little surprise for him when he comes back..."

"Sherlock, no." I blushed deeply and covered some of my face with my hands as he laughed at my embarrassment.

"Or maybe the floor, and I'll do that little trick that makes you come buckets and just aim..." He kept laughing as I stood up, going to go back to my own flat when he stood and pulled me back to his lap by my waist.

"I'm kidding, love. I'm kidding." He sighed in my ear before kissing my cheek.

"...somewhat."

"Sherlock, I swear..."


	24. Chapter 24

Sherlock got a case in Ireland, and he told me to pack to go with them because like hell he was leaving me behind.

"I've never to Ireland." I hummed while we were traveling over. "I'm half Irish, and never been to Ireland."

"I didn't know you were Irish." John looked at me.

"Really? I thought it was obvious." Sherlock hummed, and John stared at him. "Briar's pale, which isn't all that uncommon since we are in England after all, but she's very pale. So she comes from an ethnicity of extremely pale people, like the Irish. I could, of course, mention how she mainly drinks whiskey, and Irish whiskey at that, or I could talk stereotypically about how she never talks about her feelings and buries them way down deep inside, as it's said they do. But no, the most obvious is how she pronounces some words." Sherlock went on.

"Some words?" John asked.

"Well, she's half Irish, so one of her parents is Irish, I'm guessing her dad. While she was growing and learning how to speak, she was hearing both English, or American, from her mum and Irish from her dad. But see, her dad ended up leaving, so she got more used to English, but a bit of Irish stuck with her. Like how if a word has a 'th' she'll pronounce it as a 'd,' or how she enunciates her r's more than in English accents, and there's also the way she drops off the last letter of a word if it's a hard consonant, like a 't' or a 'g.'" He said, and my eyebrows were raised as I was impressed.

John paused for a moment and hummed. "I see it now." He nodded and I just rolled my eyes.

I became a little excited when the green hills came into view and were still working to hide my excitement when we checked into an inn. We got two rooms, one bed each, one for Sherlock and I, one for John. One room with two beds was cheaper, but John said there was no way he was staying in the same room as us, especially if we were sharing a bed. Sherlock grinned while I blushed, groaned, and hid my face in my hand.

"So, Briar, where in Ireland is your family from?" John asked when we went to a pub to figure out how to start this.

"Um... I don't actually know." I gave a shrug and sipped some beer.

"Mr. Holmes?" A girl came over and asked, an envelope in her hands, and we looked up. "I was told to give this to a Mr. Holmes."

"Told by whom?" Sherlock asked, holding his hand out, and she passed it over.

"No clue. Sorry." She hummed, bid us a good day, and walked off again.

Sherlock studied the envelope for a moment before he opened it, and inside there was a picture of a stone building.

"What is that?" John asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"If I had to guess, I'd say it's where our killer wants us to go... this might be fun." Sherlock hummed.

"Yeah, but where is it? Is there an address on the back or something?" I asked and he turned it over and we saw it was blank. "Of course it wouldn't be that simple." I sighed and sat back.

"Bars." Sherlock hummed. "There are bars on the windows. This is a jailhouse."

"That narrows it down, yeah, but there's got to be plenty of jailhouses." John shrugged.

"I think I know how we can narrow it down further." He stood up and went over to the bartender and started talking.

"Why don't Irish people talk about their feelings, Briar?" John hummed, and I just looked over.

"Lots of reasons." I shrugged and took another drink. "Tradition, the Church, our upbringing, ignorance..."

"But you were raised in America, mostly by your mother." He said.

"Doesn't mean my dad had no influence." I pointed out.

Sherlock came back over and sat down next to me again. "Abandoned jailhouse on the edge of the town. Apparently, it was shut down for not being up to code."

"Think we should go now?" I asked, and we all looked over to see how dark it was outside.

"Tomorrow." We agreed. We paid for the beer and retired for the night. I kicked off my shoes in the hotel room and went to go get ready for bed. I was going to wash my face and brush my teeth in the bathroom, and Sherlock stopped me, kissing my neck, and making me grin.

"I've had a thought." He said.

"I'm scared." I teased.

"We should take a vacation. We should visit every country, and fuck at least once in every one of them." He said, and I laughed a bit.

"Every country? That's your idea?" I hummed and he nodded against my skin. "In the world or just in Europe?"

"We can start in Europe." Sherlock nipped my neck, and I shook my head at him.

"You have cases, mister," I said and tried to move out of his hold, but he wouldn't let me budge.

"Fine. Can I start here, though? I have an idea, and I promise you'll love it." He asked, and I pressed my lips together.

"I suppose," I said and he let me go.

"Strip for me." He hummed, and I didn't question him, I just did so. Once I was bare, Sherlock lifted me onto the empty counter space and turned me to face the mirror, and I saw my entire body in the glass. He parted my legs, and I blushed deeply and tried to look away.

"Ah, ah. Watch." He ordered and reached around my waist and began to stroke me with his fingers. My breathing immediately became shaky, and I bit my lip, glancing up at Sherlock's reflection and I saw how he was watching me.

"Don't watch me, Briar." He said and I shyly let my eyes trail down to where he rubbed me. I watched as he sunk his middle finger in, and seeing it and feeling it at the same time was so odd, but sort of hot.

He pumped it a few times before he added his ring finger, and I whimpered slightly as he curled his fingers and relentlessly stroked my G spot.

"Look at yourself. You're so beautiful." Sherlock said and let his free hand trace my body, and I wanted to close my eyes and just feel so bad.

He pulled his fingers from me, and I blushed as seeing what seeped out. Sherlock just collected the fluid and rubbed it onto my clit, making me twitch a little.

"Keep watching. I want you to know what you look like when you come, and maybe you'll understand why I can't get enough of you." He said in my ear, and I was drawn to the way his lips moved as he spoke, then how he began to suck on a spot on my neck as he showed my clit no mercy.

I worked very hard to keep my eyes open, which got very hard when I got close and my thighs shook and wanted to close. Sherlock kept them open and held my jaw, making me watch as I came.

I watched fluid seep from me and drip onto the counter, and Sherlock didn't stop until I was relaxed and breathless. I didn't want to admit how turned on I was, how beautiful he just made me feel, so when I got my breath back, I turned my head and kissed him, letting him know that way.


	25. Chapter 25

As we agreed, we went to the jailhouse the next day, and I was breathless from walking up a hill to get there.

"You've done worse." Sherlock encouraged.

"I am not physically fit, Sherlock. That was horrible." I closed my eyes and tried to take deep breaths.

"Well, at least the walk down will be easier." John tried to make me feel better.

"Gods, I'm going to die." I groaned and went in with them.

"Okay, if I were an insane serial killer... where would I want to lead us?" Sherlock hummed.

"The cells?" John offered.

"The room with the electric chair?" I suggested.

"Both are likely." Sherlock hummed. "But the cells are closer, so I suppose we'll check there first."

So we walked along the rows of cells, looking for anything, when it had suddenly become pitch black, and I felt hands grab my wrists and bring them behind my back and bind me. I exclaimed out, but a hand came to my mouth. I could hear the other two struggling, and I was pulled away and forced to sit in a chair.

After a moment, the lights came back on, and I blinked, letting my eyes adjust, and there was a man in a suit giving me a little smile as he chewed gum. I was now in a cell, but the door was open, so I was a little confused.

"And I thought I was clever." He shook his head slowly. "I am clever, but even I couldn't have planned this. No way I could've seen this coming."

"Who're you?" I narrowed my eyes as I sighed, tired of being kidnapped.

"Aw, has he never talked about me?" He frowned.

"Who?"

"Sherlock."

"Nope." I popped my lips.

He pursed his lips. "That hurts Daddy's feelings."

"Do you have to refer to yourself that way?" My lip curled, and he only chuckled.

"Name's Moriarty. Jim Moriarty." He smiled at me. "And I've got to say, you grew up pretty, Briar."

"You know me?" I asked with furrowed eyebrows.

"I didn't expect you to recognize me." He shrugged. "I have grown up and changed my name. You know, that's something we share. We both went back to our mother's maiden names rather than keep our father's."

"How did you know that?" I asked, and he just grinned. "Never mind, guess I don't care. How do we know each other?" I asked.

Moriarty kept grinning. "Little Briar Stewart. You've made quite a name for yourself, I'm proud."

"Not answering my question." I sighed.

"Let's see..." He hummed and moved around a little. "Last time I saw you was... two thousand and three. Jesus." He said in that stereotypical Irish way.

My eyebrows furrowed, and I remembered his name was Jim. "Jimmy Stewart?" I guessed and saw his grin. "Goddamn." I sat back in surprise.

"I knew you'd get there." He hummed.

"Okay, yeah. I remember now." I nodded slowly. "Pop Pop's funeral... why did we call him Pop Pop? I'll never understand that. I remember because Aunt Susie kicked me out..."

"Because you wouldn't stop laughing." He smiled wide, nodding. "One of the best things I've ever seen. But that wasn't the last time. I was at Christmas, too. I was actually surprised that she let you back in for Christmas if I think back."

"I was a kid." I just shrugged, then narrowed my eyes. "Who's kid were you, again? I don't remember half of dad's side."

"Patrick's." He nodded. "The piece of shite. He was the reason I went to my mum's maiden name, but you understand that all too well, Pitch."

"Stewart to Moriarty. Okay." I nodded.

"Well, since it's Ireland, Stiobhard to Ó Muircheartaigh." He gave a little shrug. "But that's enough about little old me. Look at you. Accomplished author... love your work, by the way. But I'll touch more on that later. You managed to hook Sherlock Holmes. The Virgin. Though, not much of a virgin anymore, is he?"

"Oops." I just shrugged and he chuckled.

"But you see what a coincidence this is? Sherlock Holmes, my dear, sweet rival, fucking my cousin, and he didn't even know." He sighed in amusement.

"To be fair, I didn't know, either. And neither did you for a while, it seems." I pointed out.

"Because what do I care who he puts his dick in?" He shrugged.

"Do you have to word it like that? Come on, have some dignity." I curled my lip.

"Your language is filthier than mine." He pointed out.

"Yeah, but not in front of family." I shrugged.

"You don't talk to your family," Jim said with a blink.

"Still," I hummed, then rolled my eyes. "Anyways, you said you liked my work?"

"Oh, yes, really interesting. I was wondering for the longest time where you got such twisted ideas. And then it hit me." He said, and I kept listening. "It's in your blood."

"... I'm just going to roll with this. Go on." I blinked.

"It's our's dad's side of the family, the Stewart's." He nodded slowly. "It seems violence is just in our blood. Pop Pop pushed little Steven and Patrick and Susan, Patrick pushed Mother Moriarty, Steven pushed Mother Pitch... and now I push the world. But you, you don't do anything physically, only mentally. I found that really interesting." He smiled again.

"Yeah, well, after being the bully in school, I got bored. Decided to get all the violent tendencies out another way. Besides, I can write fucking anything, and people will eat it up." I shrugged.

"You've proved that, haven't you?" He chuckled. "As I said, I'm very impressed. Proud, actually."

"Thanks." I hummed.

"Only thing I learned that really surprised me about you, is that it wasn't just from our side of the family, it came from your mum's side, too." He paced a little and looked at me. "Four years old is quite young to be hit on, don't you think?"

My blood ran cold then. "How'd you know that?" I swallowed thickly.

"Thomas? He's one of mine. Reported everything back to me. I made the list for him, after all." Jim gave a little shrug and my lips parted in surprise, but I didn't say anything.

"I kinda feel sorry for you, actually, regarding that. I mean, four is quite young. People usually don't start until the kid's a bit older. Like, eight or something. But four? Your mum's just gotten you out of harm's way with your dad, trusts you with her parents while she works all day to support you, and Granddaddy just thinks you're the prettiest girl there ever was. You really couldn't get a break, could you?"

I grit my teeth together, looking away. "You can shut up at any time, you know."

"Whoa, hey now." He came forward a little. "I meant no offense. I wouldn't want to get you riled up, anyway. Just think of the rage." He chuckled and touched my cheek.

"What do you want, then? You didn't plan all this shit out just to talk to me." I said.

"Actually, I did." He nodded and leaned down to get face to face with me. "See, I know that the older Holmes boy pays you to get updates on Sherlock. I know how many digits you requested." He gave a little grin.

"Your point?" I sighed.

"You're a greedy little girl, Miss Pitch. You'll accept near any job for the right amount of money, no matter what the job is." He looked at me. "Sherlock must have mentioned my international organization at some point."

"Are you offering me a job?" I asked.

"I'm offering you a job." He smiled widely. "A high ranking job. An important job. A job that pays quite well, if I say so myself."

It then clicked in my head. He was talking loudly. Now, he could just have a natural projecting voice, but I would bet my life he was only speaking louder than normal because John and Sherlock were close and listening. Did he have them listening to humiliate me as he talked about my past? Maybe. Did he want to show Sherlock up by revealing we were related? Probably definitely. Did he want to prove something to Sherlock that he could win me over? I'd bet on it.

Jim's grin grew wider as he watched the wheels in my head turn. "What do you say?"

He had a point. He had a real good fucking point about me. I would do damn near anything for the right price. My morals and ethics were quite flexible, according to the philosophies I believed in. There were very few things I wouldn't do for money. I wouldn't rape, I wouldn't sexually abuse anybody in any way, I won't hurt children or animals, and I would not hurt anyone I loved.

He knew this. He knew he got me. And if he's as powerful as I think he is, he can pay me far beyond my imagination.

"No," I said with a nod, and he grinned wider.


	26. Chapter 26

Jim played along with my decline and slipped a card into my hand. The lights went pitch black, and he told me to scream. A gun went off, and I screamed on cue and heard the yells of both Sherlock and John very close by.

When the lights came on, I tucked the card into my bra and found Jim was gone. Sherlock came into the cell and hugged me tightly, and I was glad my heart was rapidly beating from the scare of the gunshot. If he felt I had a normal pulse, he'd know something was off.

He pulled back and checked my face, then stood and told John to stay with me as he ran out.

"God, are you okay?" John came over, and I nodded as I breathed.

"Scared half to death, but yeah, I'm fine," I said, nodding.

Sherlock came back, a bit breathless. "He's gone."

"We should get her back and something to eat, she's shaking like a leaf," John said and held my hand up, and huh, yeah I was.

So we walked back down to the village, Sherlock's arm around me, and I just wanted to go back to the inn. Being in public wouldn't do me any good.

Sherlock thankfully understood and brought me back, and sent John off to get junk food, and he told me he'd be right back with a cup of tea.

I slipped the card out of my bra when they were gone and added Jim's contact to my phone. I crumpled the card and flushed it, saving his name as Sam, just in case Sherlock ever looked over while I was messaging him. He couldn't remember John's girlfriend's names, he couldn't remember her name. I think I'm safe. Besides, her contact in my phone is Sami, and like he would really take into account one letter difference.

I brought my laptop up for Netflix to half watch, half use as background noise. Sherlock came back and handed me a huge cup of tea, and he had two others for him and John.

I should act at least a little like I needed to be comforted. I took a sip of tea and set it down, then reached for Sherlock. He noticed and slid his fingers through mine and kissed my hand before bringing me into a hug.

"You're alright, love." He murmured and kissed my forehead.

The thought entered my mind that Sherlock was blind when it came to me. I'm not sure if I was thankful or scared.

John came back with armfuls of bags. "Sherlock said 'the unhealthiest shit you can find,' so we've got McDonald's, some crisps, some sweets, and a bit of ice cream." He nodded as he took everything out, and I smiled at how much they loved me.

So we sat in Sherlock's and my room, watching a crime show as we ate unhealthy shit, taking amusement in Sherlock trying (and most of the time being successful) in solving the cases before the detectives on the show did. There were a few times when he got it wrong, and then went into a rant about how the show was wrong, he was right, and exactly why.

John soon got tired of his ranting and left, but I listened on with a smile, as Sherlock made me happy with nearly everything he did.

"I love you." I managed to slip in between sentences, and Sherlock paused and stared at me, a little smile coming to his lips.

"I love you." He said and leaned in and kissed me for a moment. He never said the words directly, but damn did they sound beautiful when he did say them.

"Are you feeling alright?" He asked softly when he pulled back.

"I'm much better now." I smiled, making Sherlock smile before he pushed his lips back to mine. I just let my eyes close and I kissed him back slowly and carefully. Sherlock let his hand cup my jaw, and he slowly lied me back on the couch, letting himself hover over me, not letting our lips part.

I let him do as he pleased, content with any affection he wanted to give me. He seemed happy with kissing me for now, and I was just enjoying every last second.

"I thought I might've lost you today." Sherlock breathed when he pulled back. "I didn't know Moriarty was behind this, but once I heard his voice..."

Sherlock trailed off, shaking his head, and I frowned a little as I watched him. He then looked at me with a small grin. "Who would've thought that you're related?"

"I'm just as surprised as you are. Told you my family was bad." I said, and he snickered a little before he went back to be serious.

"I thought he was going to kill you at any time. And near the end, one I knew he wasn't going to kill you, he then had me scared that you'd willingly take his offer." He sighed, and I kept my face neutral.

"I'd never. Work against you? How could I?" I reached up and touched his cheek, and saw him look pleased as he closed his eyes and gave a hum.


	27. Chapter 27

When we got back home, I got to work on my writing, pausing sometimes to answer Jim's texts. He asked me to meet him after some hours, saying there were things I needed to know, but couldn't be said over the phone. He gave me an address, and I told him I'd be there soon.

I got ready, doing myself up, and got on a jacket, shoes, and got my bag and left. I went to an art museum and found the cafe, then spotted Jim as a table, lightly disguised, and sat with him.

"You're going to do backflips when you hear this." He grinned.

"What?" I asked, but a waitress in a suit came over. I ordered a vanilla cappuccino, then turned back to his smile.

"He has a sister." He said.

"Sherlock?" I asked and he nodded. "I've never heard him talk of her."

"He doesn't know she exists. He forgot her." Jim continued, sipping his large Americano, and my brows furrowed. He then explained the story to me, of how she killed his friend and burned down their home, and the trauma of it all made Sherlock rewrite his memories so his friend turned to a dog, and Eurus was wiped from his memory.

"So what are you thinking?" I asked.

"I got to talk to her a little while ago. We made plans." He said, and I shifted, sitting a little straighter.

"Tell me."

Jim smiled into his cup. "You remember the fairytales we grew up hearing?" He asked, making me smile.

"Our family didn't believe in modern fairytales, so we heard Grimm fairytales." I nodded. "I scared the kids in my classes when I told them the original Cinderella."

"With the stepsisters' cutting off parts of their feet to fit in the slippers? I remember." He laughed with a nod. "I revisited those fairytales, and I'm inspired to tell my own story."

My brows twitched, and Jim smiled wider.

"The story of Sir Boast A Lot. Sir Boast A Lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the round table. But soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he’d slain. And so they began to wonder; are Sir Boast A Lot’s stories even true? So, one of the knights went to King Arthur and said “I don’t believe in Sir Boast A Lot’s stories. He’s just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.” And then even the king began to wonder. But that wasn’t the end of Sir Boast A Lot’s problems. No. That wasn’t the final problem."

I understood immediately, and my face dropped a little.

"So you're going to discredit him. Then what?"

"Then he's going to kill himself," Jim said, meeting my eyes. "Oh, don't worry. Loverboy is too smart for that. He'll figure out a way around it. I couldn't have him actually kill himself or else sissy won't have her fun with him."

I nodded slowly, guessing that was alright. "And you?"

Jim ran through his plan with me so I knew what was coming. He said the plan was starting very soon, starting with a daylight robbery.

As I got up to leave, he called, "see you in court," making me smile a little to myself.

I went back home to 221C, and around five minutes after, Sherlock came in and joined my side, tying his arms around me tightly.

"I came by earlier, but you weren't here." He hummed.

"Sam wanted to meet me." I hunted and turned to kiss his head. "Did you miss me?"

"Very much so." He sighed and pressed his face into my neck, kissing me softly there. I smiled and let my hand come up to tangle in his hair, just keeping him close.

My mind did end up wandering a little,  thinking about after Sherlock "died," ...how long would he stay "dead?"

Not even a few days later, Jim executed his daylight robbery. A few weeks later, after the final court date, I kept to myself in 221C as Jim came over to talk to Sherlock in 221B. I kept to myself in my own flat, and the second Jim left, Sherlock came to tell me all of his thoughts as he paced across my living room.

"Sher... Sherlock, calm down. You have time to figure all of this out. You look like you're going to burst. Come on." I sighed and made him sit down and breathe.

He didn't get to relax for long before he was needed for cases, and I was starting to worry a little about the outcome of these plans.


	28. Chapter 28

"Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They didn't come here to kill me." Sherlock said as he walked into 221B, and I sat up on the couch, closing my laptop.

"Assassins?" I asked, acting clueless.

"Four." John nodded. "Now three."

"I've got something that all of them want. But if one of them approaches me..." Sherlock sat down at his laptop.

"The others kill them before they can get it." John finished, looking out the window as Sherlock typed away on his laptop.

"All of the attention is focused on me. There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now." Sherlock hummed.

"What have you got that's so important?" John asked and Sherlock just swiped his fingers on the table, ignoring him.

"We need to ask about the dusting." He said and got Mrs. Hudson, then started going on about how 'eloquent' dust is.

"What's he on about?" She asked and John shook his head.

"Cameras. We're being watched." Sherlock said and began climbing the bookshelves, and my eyes widened. The idiot is going to fall and break his neck, I swear.

There was a ring at the doorbell as Sherlock climbed the right bookshelf and wiggled around a book, then plucked down a little black lens as Lestrade came in.

"No, Inspector." He said.

"What?"

"The answer is no."

"You haven't heard the question," Lestrade said.

"You want to take me to the station, just saving you the trouble of asking," Sherlock said, walking towards him. "The scream?"

"Yeah," Lestrade said and I was a bit lost. Did one of the kids actually scream when they saw him? This was working out better than we could ever have planned.

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head. That little nagging sensation you got to have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home... there." Sherlock said and tapped Lestrade's forehead.

"Will you come?" Lestrade sighed.

"One photograph, that's his next move. Moriarty's game. First the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch." Sherlock looked up. "It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play. Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan."

Lestrade sighed and walked out, leaving us three. John moved to the window, and I was getting more anxious by the second.

"He'll be deciding," Sherlock said.

"Deciding?" John asked.

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me," Sherlock said.

"You think?"

"Standard procedure," Sherlock said and I sat back and quickly texted Mycroft that something was happening, I'm not sure what yet. I then texted Jim that they were catching on, and he told me it'd all be over soon.

"Should've gone with him. People will think-"

"I don't care what people think," Sherlock said and John stared at him.

"You would care if they thought you were stupid or wrong." John tried.

"No, that would just make them stupid or wrong." Sherlock fought back.

"Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you're..." John started, then cut himself off and I looked up at the two with wide eyes.

"That I am what?" Sherlock asked.

"A fraud." John finished and Sherlock just looked away with a low sigh.

"You're worried they're right about me." He said and John shook his head. "That's why you're so upset, you can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right, you're afraid that you've been taken in as well. Moriarty is playing with your mind too. Can't you see what's going on?!" Sherlock yelled the last bit angrily, and I couldn't help but jump and let out a small squeak.

"Sorry." He muttered and I nodded and worked on decreasing my heart rate.

"No, I know you for real," John said.

"A hundred percent?" Sherlock looked down.

"Nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time." John gave a small smile, and for once, Sherlock looked hopeful.

And then the sirens sounded.

The police came and I stayed back like Sherlock and John told me to. I watched Sherlock calmly put on his scarf and coat, then he came over to me before they actually came up.

I stood and he put one hand on my cheek and the other at my waist and kissed me deeply and sweetly until we heard their footsteps drawing nearer.

"No matter what they say, promise me you'll never believe a word of it." He said and I smiled.

"Never in a million years," I swore and he gave me the most genuine smile I'd ever seen before kissing me again, then stepping back.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping," Lestrade said and John tried to protest while Sherlock tried to get him to shut up. They left and Donovan was the only one who stayed.

"You done?" John asked.

"Oh, I said it. The first time we met." She nodded, and I was downright glaring at her. "Solving crimes won't be enough. One day, he'll cross the line. Now ask yourself, what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he could impress us all by finding them?"

"Donovan? That's our man?" A fat man in glasses came in.

"Sir." She nodded.

"Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me. Often are, these vigilante types." He said and I saw John's hand ball into a fist. "What're you looking at?"

So after John socked him in the nose, he was arrested, leaving just me and Mrs. Hudson. I looked out the window as John was pressed against the car next to Sherlock, then Sherlock moved and grabbed the radio, distracting the cops, then grabbed a gun and took John with him. My hand flew over my mouth in complete surprise and awe.

That wasn't what I was expecting.

He shot into the air twice, then took John as a hostage. I watched as they backed away, then made a run for it.

I closed the curtain, smoothed it down, then went to go get myself ready for bed. I went to bed, hoping everything would be okay.

When I woke up, neither Sherlock nor John was there, but I got dressed anyway. I dressed in some of my nicer, more expensive clothes, and kept to myself upstairs as Mrs. Hudson and a handyman (one of the assassins) were downstairs. I was humming as I was reading a book, and was interrupted by my phone ringing.

"Briar! Briar... Bri..." I heard John crying on the other end.

"John? John, what happened?" I asked, making sure to sound concerned.

"Briar, it's Sherlock." He cried and took a deep breath.

"Sherlock?" I asked.

"He told me to tell you..." John took a shaky breath. "He told me to tell you 'remember what you promised.' And that he loves you." He said. He sounded so distraught, I sort of felt a little guilty for him.

"John, where is Sherlock?" I made my voice crack.

"Briar, he's dead." He said.


	29. Chapter 29

I dressed up for Sherlock's funeral and met with Mycroft after, and noticed that his parents weren't there. I didn't ask, or it might tip him off that I knew what was up.

I did meet Jim after the funeral, though. He was meeting me for lunch, and I sat down with a sigh at a private table in the back of a restaurant.

"So, you're dead." I hummed, and Jim nodded as he stopped whiskey. "Sherlock's dead. Sort of." I shrugged.

"What are you going to do until he gets back?" He asked.

"Probably slip into a deep depression for a couple months, work on my writing. Publish something depressing, then reappear to the outside world again. What about you?" I asked, smiling at the waiter when he brought me a glass of wine.

"Sherlock is already working on dismantling my organizations." He said. "That's fine. All he knows about is the surface one. I've got my fingers in plenty of pies he doesn't even know exist."

"Good," I nodded. "I hope I'm not one of your surface groups."

"Do you really think I'm that dumb?" He tilted his head, and I just rolled my eyes.

"Never hurts to check." I figured and took another drink. "So, I've had a question on my mind."

Jim just hummed, looking at the table. "Do I get to meet the sister? Eurus?"

"Probably not a good idea. She's a manipulative little snake." Jim grinned. "Mycroft says she's more clever than both he and Sherly."

"That so?" I nodded slowly, pushing my lips.

"She also might spill to Mycroft, we can't have that." He said.

"I don't think it matters. Hell, you've worked with Mycroft, and Sherlock only knows about that because John blabbed. I don't think Mycroft would be surprised at all to learn I was in on this, too." I said.

"That may be true, but I still need you close and comfy with Sherlock. Those two aren't close at all. There's a difference." Jim said. "So for now, can't have Mycroft knowing anything."

I nodded, not going to go against what he said, and soon two plates with steaks and some other sides were delivered.

"Hope you like your steak medium rare." He hummed.

"I love it bloody." I grinned, cutting into the end.

"Remember our cousin, Dale? He used to say he liked his steak so rare that he would go to a live cow and bite it in the ass?" He asked, and I smirked and nodded in amusement.

"Fun times," I sighed. "You ever wonder how powerful our family could've been if we all liked each other?" I asked.

"All the time." Jim nodded, chewing slowly. "All the fury and violence could've made us as famous as the Kardashians."

"I feel we're more like the LaVey's," I said, making him laugh as I snickered.

After a meal, I went back home and made sure to lock my door. I got myself into a shower to think, and after got right back to work on my writing, hoping to finish up this novel so I could start a super fucking depressing one.

I then sort of got to thinking about what I was going to do with myself for however long Sherlock was gone. Would I find someone for booty calls? Should I find someone and start a new relationship? Maybe add a little drama to the mix?

As I thought about it, I thought that a booty call would suffice after a couple months. Until then, I think I can handle myself.

I hardly left my flat and downloaded an app so someone could deliver groceries to me, so I left even less. Mrs. Hudson was worried, I know, and I think John was too, but after two weeks, the knocks on my door became obviously less frequent.

I tried not to think about how John must be suffering, as he didn't know Sherlock was alive. Mycroft now asked me for updates on John, which I gave weekly. John didn't seem to be hurting himself, but he seemed very sad, so that's what I told Mycroft.

Mycroft never asked how I was, so I think he guessed that I figured out that Sherlock wasn't really dead. I even considered just flat out asking where he was, just to know. But I couldn't do that, could I?

After some months when I reemerged, I got myself a new wardrobe, as I was now rich enough to afford how I wanted to dress. I kept my nails done, kept my hair done, my makeup expensive, and I more or less became cold and uncaring towards nearly everything. I was too focused on gathering information and making plans years into the future. I ran them over in my head constantly. How I should act when certain things happened, what I should say to certain questions and such.

I went as far as to get myself protection. I had guns hidden around my flat now.

Well, 221B, that is.

Mrs. Hudson offered me the flat when John moved out. She said she just couldn't let anyone else move in. I agreed to take it and moved all my shit into Sherlock's room.

Unlike my old flat, I didn't revamp it. I kept it relatively the same but kept it clean unlike the boys did. When Sherlock came back, I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate his walls painted ice blue and lavender. And besides, I was fine with ivory and ebony here.

I seemed to be getting along fine, but I really, really missed being held at night and waking up to kisses being pressed all over my face. I missed his shift curls, and I missed how he smelled and felt around me.

I was just a bit too lonely now.


	30. Chapter 30

hen Mrs. Hudson screamed one night, my smile grew, as I knew exactly what was happening. I then wiped it from my face and put on a worried one.

"Mrs. Hudson?! Are you alright?" I called as I went down the stairs, then paused when I saw Sherlock's figure at the door. He hardly aged a day, and a soft smile came to my face. Tears welled up in my eyes as all the feelings of missing him rushed back to me, and I went over and jumped on him in a hug, tying my arms around him as tightly as I could, my legs around his waist, as well.

Sherlock caught me and hugged me back just as tightly, and I could've sworn he was crying, if not sniffling.

"I knew you weren't dead. You're too clever for that." I sniffed, pressing my face into his shoulder.

"I missed you... more than words could ever describe," Sherlock said in a thick voice. I slid down and took him by the hand up to our flat, and saw his pink eyes lined with tears.

Once we were up, Sherlock crushed me back into a hug, and I laughed a little.

"Let's get your coat off, okay? Let's just get comfortable, then we can spend as much time as we like together." I said, pulling his coat off of his shoulders.

"I love you," Sherlock just stared at me. "I still love you, with everything in me. Damn it, Briar, I love you." He said, pulling me back into a hug, and I smiled and let my arms come back around him as well.

"I love you, too. Never stopped loving you, Sherlock." I said, gripping his shirt in my hands.

"Then why are there faded hickeys on your neck?" He asked in a low voice, and I swallowed as he pulled back to look at me.

"It's nothing serious. Promise. I just... it's just to-" I tried to find the right wording, but shut up when Sherlock took me to my... our room.

"You're mine, hear me?" He gave me a hard look as he began to undress me, and I nodded, immediately turned on. "Say it."

"I'm yours, Sherlock. Only yours." I said, watching his eyes grow hungry as he took me in.

He then looked at the bed, and I saw his lip curl. "Has someone else fucked you in this bed?"

"Sherlock..." I tried, but he only gave me a look. "Yes," I asked with a sigh.

"We can't have that." He shook his head and pushed me down onto the mattress, then undressed before he met my lips for the first time in two years.

I kissed him back just as heatedly as he was kissing me, and I openly moaned at his hands trailing all over me. I let my hands grip his hair, but they moved to his shoulders as he kissed and sucked harshly at my neck, leaving new hickeys. His fingers were already probing at my entrance, and he soon had two working in me at a wonderful pace.

But then his other hands slipped down, and my eyes widened drastically.

"Sherlock, no. Please, no." I begged, then switched as his fingers curled inside of me.

"I need you to know that no one can make you come as I can. You might have forgotten that I know your body best, love." He said and pressed down onto my pelvis with his palm.

I shook and felt myself starting to flood, and moved both my hands to clasp over my mouth and muffle my moans and screams.

"Fuck, I almost forgot how much I love watching you like this." I heard him breathe, then he gave me a small break before he pressed down and in me even harder. His thumb came to my clit just to torture me even more, and I was practically thrashing around, squealing and tensing as I came.

I didn't even have time to be embarrassed before Sherlock grabbed my wrists and brought them above my head, then buried himself in me.

"Ah! Sherlock... I'm still sensitive." I winced slightly.

"I don't care." He just shook his head and began to roll his hips. I felt like I could've burst with how dominant he was being. With my other partners over the last two years, I was dominant because I was the one with the money. I sort of missed Sherlock fucking me like this, taking control over me. Shit, we've been at this for maybe only ten minutes, and I was already ready to beg for him.

The thought slipped into my head that no one filled me as well as he did, that I haven't been truly satisfied for two years, and that had me tearing up a little, along with my sensitivity that he was ignoring.

"Oh, shit... are you alright, love? Was I too rough?" Sherlock stopped the second he saw the tears and wiped my cheeks with his thumbs.

I just shook my head. "No. No, I just really, really missed you, Sherlock." I sniffed and saw him smile for the first time tonight.

"I missed you too, Briar. You've no idea how much." He kissed me then and rolled his hips more slowly. I clung onto him like he might disappear again, and kissed him like how I needed to breathe.

Sherlock kept saying that he loved me as he brought us closer and closer to the edge, and I begged him to fuck me like he meant it. Show me how much he missed me, and fuck, did he deliver.

I didn't bother muffling my screams as he drilled his hips into mine, filling me completely. My neck was already bruised, but I'm sure my hips would be bruised after this as well.

Since I was already so sensitive, him getting me to come was a piece of cake. And I kept him pressed to me as he came inside of me, and he rolled us onto our sides after he pulled out, and he kissed me deeply as we calmed again.

After a minute or so, we parted, and he watched me carefully, his eyes just tracing my face as I studied him.

"You're not going to call anyone back to bed, right?" He asked, making me smile.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said, slipping my arms around him and pushed my face into his bare chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat and taking in his warmth and scent that I missed for so long.


	31. Chapter 31

"You reek of sex," Jim said when I met him in an art museum gallery. Roman art.

"That's usually how reunions between couples go." I nodded. "And don't try that bullshit. I showered."

"You caught me. I can see the redness on the back of your neck." He said, and my hand flew up to touch my skin. I thought I had covered them all.

"So, what now?" I asked.

"Sherlock's circling this terrorist organization, but the poor boy isn't taking things literally." He pouted.

"Oh, you mean the underground bomb?" I murmured.

"You can't say a word."

"You must think I'm so stupid." I rolled my eyes. "What's he doing?"

"He's looking at underground terrorists, not the actual underground. It's his one flaw." Jim sighed. "Did you see that John Watson is getting married? Think I'll be invited to the wedding?" He grinned.

"They think you're dead, Jim." I rolled my eyes.

"What about a disguise?" He kept joking.

"When will you stop trying to flirt with my boyfriend?" I chuckled.

"Here's my question." He licked his lips. "You knew he was alive. What was with all the house calls?"

"I prefer having someone else do the work." I shrugged. "It's never anything serious. No strings attached. Just get off, get out."

"Wonder how Sherlock felt about that." He hummed.

"Oh, he wasn't happy at all." I shook my head, kissing my teeth.

"So, your last novel was pretty depressing. How about you write a sex filled one now?" He grinned at me as he chewed gum.

"Why would I do that?" I asked.

"To get your emotions out." Jim shrugged.

"I have better ways of getting those emotions out, thanks." I rolled my eyes. "I'm actually thinking about doing some short stories, then going on a hiatus." I nodded.

"Hiatus? For what?" Jim asked.

"For Eurus' turn. It's almost time, isn't it?" I asked.

Jim checked his watch and sighed. "Oh, I suppose it is. Few more months at least."

"Aw, you'll make a comeback someday, Jimmy." I patted his shoulder. "I still want to meet Eurus, though."

"Since you want to so badly, I'll have to be there with you. Eurus is a master of manipulation, and I'm not having you be under her spell for anything." Jim shook his head.

"Aw. Look at you looking out for me." I smiled and Jim grinned.

"Gotta look out for my baby cousin." He nudged my arm. I smirked and said goodbye before I turned to go back home, stopping to run some errands to cover up any evidence that I was with Jim just now.

Sherlock was in his chair with his violin when I came back, and I went right to the kitchen for some biscuits. I didn't touch John's chair out of respect, so I went and sat on Sherlock's lap.

"What's up?" He looked up at me.

"Just bored." I shrugged.

"Sometimes, I swear you get bored more easily than I do. Why don't you work on your writing?" He nodded to my laptop on the table.

"No inspiration." I just shrugged. "No real ideas."

"Real ideas?" He asked.

"Only fragments. Pieces. Nothing solid to work with." I sighed, leaning back slightly. "I'm boooreddd, Sherlock," I whined.

"What do you want me to do about it?" He just hummed.

"Maybe I wanna make out. Maybe I wanna take a nap with you. I don't fucking know." I shrugged and set the cookies down so I could curl up closer to him.

"I vote on napping. We might get carried away if we make out." Sherlock set his violin aside and lifted me.

"What's wrong with getting carried away?" I asked as he walked to our room.

"Nothing, really. But you're not truly horny. You're just bored. You could lose interest fast." He lied me down and began to get in bed next to me. "I prefer to take you when you're truly in the mood." He sighed as he covered us up.

"If you say so." I hummed and ket let myself curl up and get comfy.

As I dozed off, I dreamed about what meeting Eurus might be like. Just how clever was she? Was she truly everything Jim said she was? Also, how would I find the time to meet her?

I began planning an excuse to get me away from the flat for at least a day or two.

When I woke again, I planned even more. I sat up in bed and texted Jim if he was free soon to come with me to meet Eurus. He said he could make time and then asked what was I planning.

"Hey, Sherlock?" I called and he popped his head in.

"I know this is like, the worst timing ever, but I'm planning on going away for a day or two. Think you'll survive without me?" I but my lip, hoping he wouldn't be upset or ask too many questions.

"I might live." He hummed. "Where are you going?"

"To visit my mom." I let my face fall into one of uncomfort. "I just... it's been weighing on me lately, all the shit about my family I don't know, and I'm only going to find out by talking to them."

"Though you don't want to?" He had a tiny smile on.

"Not exactly, no." I shook my head.

"Do you want me to come with you?" He asked.

"For your own sake, it's better if you don't. They're vicious with judgment and would tear you to shreds." I shook my head. "And that is why I'll be showing up looking like a fucking duchess."

Sherlock chuckled a little. "What do you mean?"

"Since you 'died,' Mycroft has had me spy on John. Well, all that money adds up. And you know me, you know damn well I spent it on the best clothes I could get." I said and Sherlock nodded.

"You're such a material person, Briar." He sighed.

"I'm greedy and vain. What else is new?" I hummed without caring.


	32. Chapter 32

I had a small bag packed and met Jim, and he led me to an airport where a helicopter waited for us. He got in first and offered me his hand, which I sort of need, given the fact that I was wearing heels.

I suddenly found it ridiculous that we were going to a jail/asylum in designer clothes. Jim in a Westwood suit around two thousand dollars, me in an Alexander McQueen dress around seventeen hundred. And that wasn't counting our accessories and shoes.

It took a little while to get to the island, Jim had to be Jim and made a little scene. We're were led in and passed through security, and when we entered one room, I was surprised to see Mycroft there.

He looked between us and didn't look surprised at all.

"Sherlock told me you two were relatives." He hummed.

"What else did he tell you?" I asked.

"That he offered you a job eons ago, but you refused. You didn't really refuse, did you now?" Mycroft tilted his head at me.

"She's spying on Sherlock for two. For a while, actually." Jim smiled widely.

Mycroft came over to me, getting in my face. "Why?"

"Oh, come on. You know Sherlock. You know how bored he gets and how destructive he gets when he's bored. This is just making sure he has something to do." I said, then glared a little. "And you're not going to say a goddamn word about it."

Mycroft then stood straight again, still looking at me. "No. No, I'm not."

"Mycroft introduced me to little Eurus. We need a word." Jim hummed.

Mycroft looked all too uncomfortable. "Briar, for your own wellbeing, I advise against this."

"I don't care." I blinked and turned my head. "Which way?"

A guard led us down a hall and into a room where a dark-haired woman in white sat.

"Is that you, Jimmy?" She asked, her head rolling to the side.

"It is, my dear. I've got a treat for you." He smiled. Eurus looked over her shoulder, studying me. "Just Briar, my cousin. Sherlock's squeeze."

She then stood and came over, her eyes trained on me. I kept still, studying her as well.

"What's fucking my brother like?" She asked.

"Depends," I said without missing a beat. I had grown used to intrusive questions over the years.

"On?" She asked just as fast.

"On how he fucks me." I just said.

She cracked just a little smile. "I like you. Who's side are you on?"

"I have my own side." I blinked.

"Do you now? I think your side is called No Man's Land. In the middle of two raging armies." Eurus said.

"Raging isn't the word I'd use." I hummed.

"What word then?"

"Clever. Intuitive." I smiled a little. "Armies of questionable moralities."

"Are you clever?" She asked.

"Not as clever as the people I surround myself with." I could admit that.

"You're plenty clever. You trick Sherlock." Jim smiled proudly next to me.

"Sherlock's blind when it comes to me." I then looked fully at Eurus. "What's your plan?"

"Are you going to tell him?"

"What? And ruin everything?" I blinked, confused.

"Come on, darling. Briar's been loyal for years." Jim put his arm around me, holding my arm. "I trust her."

Eurus studied us a little more. "Get me a phone and I'll give you regular updates."

Jim then looked behind us to the camera. "You heard the girl."

We left and left Mycroft again. "I have both of your numbers." He sighed, not seeming pleased.

"Then I expect she'll be in touch very soon," I said, and turned to leave.

"You're eager to leave," Jim said, joining my side.

"I'm hungry." I simply said as we made our way back to the chopper.

Once we got back to the mainland, Jim took me to a higher end restaurant. I sipped white wine as I tried to think, making more plans now. I had to think of what to say in what situation, for every scenario.

"So, what do you think of her?" Jim asked.

"Of Eurus? Fucking creepy." I nodded, making him laugh. "But clever, I'll give her that."

"The Underground terror plot is still going on, then I have a little something planned with Charles Augustus. Then Eurus has another something planned with Culverton Smith." Jim hummed.

"The TV personality?" I asked and he nodded. "What's up with him?"

"He has a murder hospital. Kills his patients." He nodded again, making me chuckle.

"We love H. H. Holmes." I sighed.

"Think they're related?" Jim asked.

"Probably not. American, wasn't he?" I tilted my head a little.

All while I was chatting with Jim, John was being pulled out of a fire. I decided to stay the night in one of Jim's many luxurious rooms in one of his many houses and then set back for London in the morning.

When I arrived back home, John looked like he was thinking at the steps to the door.

"Gonna come in?" I asked, and he turned to look at me, even more confused now.

"Where were you?" He asked.

"Visiting family," I said and let us in. John opened the door for me, then helped with my bags. I wasn't too surprised to see Sherlock standing on the sofa between two elderly people.

"John," Sherlock said, and I just moved past John to get my stuff in.

"Sorry, you're busy... Briar." John said.

"What? I live here, too." I shrugged and gave a smile to the couple.

"No, no, no, they were just leaving," Sherlock said and lifted the woman off the couch.

"Oh, were we?" She asked.

"Yes..." Sherlock moved them to the door.

"No, if you've got a case..." John started.

"No, not a case, no." Sherlock tried, and there was just so much chatter, I just turned to start on some tea and snacks, since I was hungry.

"Clients?" John asked when they were gone.

"Just my parents." He said, and I dropped the mug I was holding, and it cracked into pieces on the ground.

"Briar?" He asked and I turned to look at him with raised eyebrows.

"Those were your parents?" I asked, my heart feeling like it wasn't beating, and then it was beating very hard and fast. "Oh my God, they must have thought I was so rude! I... can you call them back up? I should meet them formally."

"What? No. They know who you are, I've told them about you." Sherlock shrugged, which didn't make me feel better.

"What the hell did you tell them?!" I came to stand in front of him.

"That you're my partner...?" He looked confused.

"And?!" I felt myself growing faint.

"And? And what?" He asked.

"There's a lot you could've said, Sherlock." I narrowed my eyes.

"Well, I didn't tell them about your numerous partners over the last two years if that's what you were worried about." He said, and then glanced to John.

"You're still on that? You were dead, Sherlock! And jacking off to the thought of a dead person is a little weird when you think about it." I argued.

"Should I be here?" John then asked.

In a mood, I rolled my eyes and left, mumbling nonsense about getting food downstairs.


	33. Chapter 33

I stayed in a mood until the boys got back, looking high from adrenaline rushes.

"What did you do?" I sighed as I sat on the couch with some tea.

"Might... be a good time for me to leave?" John asked slowly.

"Yeah, might." Sherlock nodded, and so John left.

"If you're still mad..." I started.

"I'm not still mad."

"You seem mad." I frowned. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I don't know what else you want from me."

"A promise you won't do it again?"

"You have that promise." I nodded.

"Do I really?" He asked, giving me a look.

I just paused for a second. "Have I lost all trust with you?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "No, no you haven't." He said lowly and held his hand out for me to join him. I stood and took his hand before he pulled me into a hug, and I felt warm and safe in his arms, so much so that I began tearing up.

"What's wrong, love?" He whispered, tracing my hair.

"I'm just scared that this isn't real. That you're just going to disappear. You're going to leave me again." I sniffed and hastily wiped my cheeks.

"I wouldn't dream of it, darling," Sherlock assured me, then lowered himself to look me in the eye. "You have no idea how much I hate myself for leaving you behind. There were so many times I wanted nothing but to have you with me, to have you by my side. I missed you to the point where I felt homesick, something I've never felt before. I hated not having you there with me."

I closed my eyes to stem my tears and just nodded. "I thought about you every time I was with someone else, which felt really weird, considering you were considered dead."

"Yes, thinking of fucking a dead person..." Sherlock hummed and that made me giggle a little, and I quieted as he held my cheek in his palm. "Listen, Briar, I promise I'm not mad. A little upset, maybe, but not mad. I understand. And as long as I have your word that you won't even think of fucking someone else, I'm good."

I sniffed again and nodded. "Would you think I'm a slut if I wanted you right now?"

"No," He shook his head.

"Good, because I want you right now." I nodded with a little smile. Sherlock gave a small laugh and dipped down to kiss me, keeping it all slow and sweet. Our hands moved slowly, pulling our clothes off and away, and Sherlock led me to our room, our bed, which he carefully placed me on before joining me.

"I used to wonder..." He started as he kissed my neck. "How people could stand being so close and doing all this work just for the pleasure..." He hummed and lightly bit my lip. "But now I think I understand."

That made me smile, knowing he liked doing this with me, that it wasn't a waste of time for him. Yes, he always consented, and I thought he enjoyed it, but now I was certain that he did.

Afterward, we were lying curled up together, breathing heavily and slowly, just enjoying the last sparks of pleasure. I rolled over and curled up on his chest, and felt his arm come around me, his fingers lightly tracing my skin. It was all I needed to be perfectly content.

Even later, it was time for Sherlock to give the story to a crowd waiting outside 221B. Lestrade was over, and so was John's fiancee, and we were waiting for Molly and her new boyfriend to arrive.

"Have you set a date?" Mrs. Hudson asked Mary.

"Well, we thought May." She started.

"A spring wedding!" Mrs. Hudson sounded pleased as Sherlock brought her a glass of champagne, then poured one for me.

"Yeah, well, once we've actually gotten engaged. We were interrupted last time." Mary threw a look at Sherlock, who just smirked.

"What did you do?" I hissed beside him.

"I apparently chose the wrong time to come back to life." He said and I couldn't hide my snicker fast enough.

"You think that's funny? I had the whole night planned!" John stared at me.

"Yeah, it's funny. Isn't it just like Sherlock to do something like that? What else were you expecting? You've known him longer than I have, John." I smiled, and he just grumbled something about me being right.

I then looked over to Sherlock. "Also, if you ever want to propose, don't try any funny shit, I will kill you," I whispered in his ear.

"Noted, love." He nodded and stole a sip from my glass.

"You will be there, Sherlock?" Mary asked. "Better yet, you'll make sure he's there, Briar?"

"Weddings aren't really my thing." Sherlock tried.

"Of course we'll be there," I said, throwing him a look, and Molly walked in with her boyfriend.

"Hello, everyone. This is Tom. Tom, this is... everyone." She smiled. I looked over, and I would've expected Tom Hiddleston over a Sherlock doppelganger. But there he was, Sherlock's apparent long lost twin brother.

Ha, long lost sibling. I'm hilarious as shit.

(Speaking of, if Molly did somehow manage to snag Tom Hiddleston, I wouldn't trade, I'd just ask for a threesome. Or steal him too and have two boyfriends. Just saying.)

"You look like you're thinking of sex." Sherlock murmured in my ear.

"That I am." I gave him a smirk and sipped some champagne.

They soon had to go and report, and so I just hid in the kitchen with the champagne, pretending to make tea, though the stove was on the lowest setting to boil water.

"Are you hiding?" Mary whispered when she came in.

"It's where Sherlock and I are alike. We aren't fans of being social." I gave her a smile.

"So you're going to take twenty minutes to make tea until he gets back?" She asked. I didn't get the chance to answer before John was back.

"Briar, Sherlock wants you down there. Says he's going to start yelling some nasty things soon." He said, and I gave a proud smile and went down with him, joining Sherlock's side and taking his hand, like I always would.


	34. Chapter 34

"Sherlock! I need help!" I called as he was composing.

"I'm busy!" He called back.

"Too busy to help me?" I pouted as I walked into the living room and saw him dancing by himself. "You're missing something," I said and walked over, slipping into his hold.

"What?" He sighed, putting his forehead on mine.

"I don't know how to dance. There. I'm not bothering you at all." I hummed, and he looked surprised.

"You don't know how to dance?"

"No, why is that surprising? You look surprised." I frowned.

"No, I just could've sworn I noticed you took dance classes when you were younger." He said.

"I did cheerleading and ballet, and I remember absolutely none of either."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, then smiled, and began to lead us in a slow dance to the violin playing on his phone.

"Do you dance in public?" He asked.

"Definitely not. But I'm sure Mary will chew me out if she doesn't see me dance at her wedding." I sighed.

"Then I'll lead, you'll dance only with me, and everything will be fine." He shrugged.

"Sounds perfect." I smiled widely.

We continued to dance until the dancing turned into kissing, then we were interrupted by Mrs. Hudson bringing tea. I took that as my cue to start getting ready for the day, and Sherlock joined me two minutes later to start getting ready himself. My dress was a wine red off-the-shoulder number with a slit up the left thigh.

I completely zoned out from the time we left the house to where we were taking pictures outside of the church. I remembered to smile, then was sort of in a daze from the flashes.

"You don't look well, love." Sherlock murmured with his arms wound tight around me, holding me upright.

"Probably just need to eat or something. Stupid human functions." I sighed, making him smile.

"Come on, let's get you some food." He hummed and pulled me away and into the room where the afterparty would be. Sherlock stole me some fruit from the kitchen and hid with me in a back room. I ended up laughing at the ridiculousness of this all.

"What?" He smiled.

"Wanna have a quickie in here later when we get bored?" I asked.

"I'm not a fan of quickies," He hummed, coming over to sit next to me. "I prefer to take my time." He said lowly, sending shivers through me.

"You know, now that I think about it, I could use a snack myself." He hummed, then slid to the floor before me, and reached under my dress, sliding my panties, a lace thong, off of me, and he stuffed it in his pocket. He moved my skirts aside and lifted my legs, kissing up my thighs until his lips met my core.

I tried hard to keep myself quiet, and even harder to not beg for more after he had made me come. I kissed him deeply, holding his hair in my fist, wanting to rub against him and have him fuck me hard right there.

"Later, love. Later." Sherlock murmured to me, pulling back slowly as I whined.

"But-" I tried, and he shook his head.

"Don't you want to save it? Have it build up in you so it's even better when the time finally comes?" He tempted me, his voice making me moan softly. I leaned forward and kissed him again, but I kept it soft and sweet, not heated.

We made it back just in time for his speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, and um... others. Uh..." He paused and there was an uncomfortable silence in the room. "Mm, first things first. Telegrams. Well, they're not actually telegrams, we just call them telegrams, I don't know why. Wedding tradition... because we don't have enough of that already, apparently..."

Oh my God, this was going to be gold. I'm audio recording this. Now.

"To Mr. And Mrs. Watson, so sorry I'm unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford..."

Sherlock went through only a few before giving up.

"John Watson. My friend, John Watson. John." He hummed, and I was just trying not to die laughing. "When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused. I confess at first I didn't realize he was asking me. When I finally understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and surprised. I explained to him that I had never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the face of it. I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was, for me, as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he placed in me and indicated that I was, in some ways, very close to being moved by it."

No? He didn't?

"It later transpired that I'd said none of this out loud," Sherlock said, which earned some laughter, then he dug the cards out of his coat pocket, and I swear everyone that knew him was waiting with bated breath. Including myself.

"I'm afraid, John, that I can't congratulate you. All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the pure cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. Today we honor the deathwatch beetle that is the doom of our society and in time, one feels certain our entire species."

"But, anyway, let's talk about John." He said after another uncomfortable silence. "If I burden myself with a little helpmate during my adventures, it is not out of sentiment or caprice, it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me..."

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

"Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes in truth from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides. It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favor exceptionally plain bridesmaids for their big day. There is a certain analogy there, I feel. And the contrast is, after all, God's own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation. Or it would be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot."

Motherfucking hell, Sherlock.

"The point I'm trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious asshole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful, and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend. And certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing. John, I am a ridiculous man. Redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But as I am, apparently, your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion. Actually, now I can. Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable of. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss... so sorry again about that last one... so know this. Today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved. In short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say that we will never let you down and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that."

"Ah, now onto some funny stories about John... What's wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John? Briar?" He looked at us, and me and my huge, idiotic smile for this man.


	35. Chapter 35

"Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us is..."

At that moment, Sherlock froze and the glass slipped from his fingers as the cameraman took the pictures. Sherlock had just realized something, and from the look on his face, it wasn't something good.

Sherlock then got us all to sit down again, and to say the least, we were all confused.

"Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech. Get off early, leave them laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind but for now..." He actually jumped over the table. "Part two! Part two is more action-based. I'm going to walk around, shake things up a bit. Who'd go to a wedding? That's the question."

Okay, something was definitely wrong.

"Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding? Well, everyone. Weddings are great! Love a wedding. John's great too! I haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his... jumpers. And he can cook. Does a thing, with peas... once. Might not be peas. Might not be him. But he's got a great singing voice... or somebody does. Probably Briar. I spy when she showers sometimes. Sorry, love. Anyway."

The hell and fuck is going on?

Sherlock's playing Murder, that's what.

"Who could you only kill at a wedding? Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I have often planned the murder of my friends and colleagues. Now, John, I'd poison. Sloppy eater, dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds that way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue. Lestrade's so easy to kill, it's a miracle no one's succumbed to the temptation. I've got a pair of keys to my brother's house, I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him... if the whim arose. And Briar, lovely Briar, she's a bit harder, and due to our relationship, I'd be the first suspect, so I think the easiest way to kill her is to make it look like she committed suicide. Lord knows how many prescription bottles she has around the flat... could just knock one over..."

"I think that's quite enough, Sherlock." I coughed my face bright red.

"Sorry again. So, again, who could you only kill here? Clearly, it's a rare opportunity so it's someone who doesn't get out much. Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception..." He went on and on until I had gotten who the victim was.

Major Sholto, John's old friend.

The three of them soon left, and I slipped away and joined them right in time for John to give him medical attention.

"All good?" I asked, holding Sherlock's arm.

"Almost," He nodded.

"When were you going to tell me you spy on me when I'm showering?" I asked, pointing a finger to his chest.

"When you stopped singing in the shower." He smiled softly.

"So, never then?" I hummed, smiling softly.

"Yeah, never." He nodded and led me away to that room for some alone time. He slowly unzipped my dress and kissed my shoulders as he did so, making me shiver.

My dress pooled to the ground, and I was left in only heels. I kicked them off and joined Sherlock on the bed, pulling at his suit to get it off of him.

Sherlock lowered down as he grabbed the back of my thighs, and I gripped his shoulders as he lifted my hips up. I had my legs around his waist as he sunk into me. I felt him breathe out slowly, and I kept my arms around his neck and shoulders as he began to move.

Sherlock's forehead met mine as he slid in and out of me, and I whimpered at how full I felt, how good he felt. He kept his thrusts slow as he focused on going deep in me, and fuck, I felt the difference. I let my eyes screwed shut, and I was amazed that I already felt close.

I murmured his name a few times and gasped as the first orgasm hit me. Sherlock didn't stop. In fact, he talked me through it, telling me I was beautiful and how good I felt. I leaned forward to kiss him, which Sherlock accepted. He eagerly kissed me back, his thumbs tracing over my nipples as we kissed deeply.

I knew he was getting close when he pulled my hips flush against his, making me gasp, and Sherlock groaned into my mouth in turn. Our kiss had broken, but I still kept close. Sherlock kissed me hard when he came, making me shudder as I came after him.

Our kiss got slower and softer as we relaxed, and we parted so he could pull out and we could both rest. Sherlock kept us there, though, forehead to forehead.

"I love you," He sighed, making my heart swell up, and I beamed.

"I love you." I echoed and crushed him in a hug before we dressed to join the afterparty and dance.


	36. Chapter 36

Eurus had contacted me about plans, and so I had missed a big portion of Jim's plans with Magnussen. First I was talking with Eurus, and next thing I know, Sherlock is in the hospital after being shot and nearly dying.

I was in the kitchen with Mrs. Hudson making tea when we heard the three of them coming up the stairs.

"John..." Mrs. Hudson started, but he did not look happy at all. "Mary." She didn't look too happy either. "Oh, Sherlock, good gracious, you look terrible."

"Get me some morphine from your kitchen, I've run out." He said solemnly.

"I don't have any morphine," She said.

"Then what exactly is the point of you?" He snapped.

"Sherlock." I gave him a look, and he shut up. I rolled my eyes and went to my pill bottles on the counter and picked up a strong painkiller. I shook three out into my hand and gave them to him. He muttered thanks and led me to his chair, which I sat on the arm of.

"What is going on?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Bloody good question," John said.

"The Watsons are about to have a domestic and fairly quickly, I hope because we have work to do," Sherlock said.

"No, I have a better question," John spoke up. "Is everyone I have ever met a psychopath?"

Ouch.

"Yes. Now that we've settled that..."

"Shut up! And stay shut up. Because this is not funny. Not this time." John yelled.

"I didn't say it was funny."

"You," John looked to Mary. "What have I done? Hm? My whole life, what have I done to deserve you?"

"Everything," Sherlock stated.

"Sherlock..." John warned him.

"No, I mean it, seriously. Everything. Everything you've ever done is what you did."

"Sherlock, one more word, and you won't need morphine." That got me glaring at John and moving to protect Sherlock.

"You were a doctor who went to war. You're a man who couldn't stay in the suburbs more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. That's me, by the way, hello. Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel." Sherlock listed.

"It was my husband's cartel. I was just typing." She insisted, making me smile softly even though this was the worst time to be smiling.

"And exotic dancing..." He hummed. "Anyway, John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people, so it is truly a surprise that the woman you fall in love with conforms to that pattern?"

"But she wasn't supposed to be like that. Why is she like that?" John's voice broke, and my heart actually went out to Mary.

"Because you chose her."

They then decided she was a client, and John took his seat so we were all in position. Mary put a hard drive on the table, and John pocketed it.

"How much do you know already?" She asked Sherlock.

"By your skill set, you are or were an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English, but I suspect you are not. You're on the run from something. You've used your skills to disappear. Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him and I assume you befriended Janine in order to get close to him."

"The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life," Mary said.

"So you were just going to kill him?" John asked blankly.

"People like Magnussen should be killed, that's why there are people like me."

"Perfect. So that's what you were? An assassin? How could I not see that?" John said sarcastically.

"You did see that." Mary nodded. "And you married me because he's right. It's what you like."

Sherlock then got some details straight, and then the EMTs were here for Sherlock, sending me into a near panic. Sherlock just told John to keep me calm while they took care of him.

So Sherlock was back in the hospital and Mary was making me tea as John kept me calm in Sherlock's chair.

"She couldn't have shot him in the arm or something?" I sighed to myself.

"I don't know, either. Listen, Briar, he is going to be just fine. Sherlock's strong, we both know it." John said to me.

"When do you think we can see him?" I asked.

"In a bit, promise." He held my hand to comfort me, and Mary brought over some tea.

"You didn't poison it, did you?" He asked, and I scolded him.

"No, Briar, it's fine. It'll take time to get John to trust me again." She said.

"Well, Sherlock says we can trust you, and I trust Sherlock with my life, so I trust you." I nodded firmly and drank some tea.

"That's very kind of you." Mary sniffed a little.


	37. Chapter 37

It was my first Christmas with Sherlock's family, and I was all kinds of strung up.

"Oh, dear God, it's only two o'clock. It's been Christmas day for at least a week now." Mycroft whined, making me grin. "How can it only be two? I'm in agony."

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Their mother asked.

"Upon which depends the security of the free world, yes. And you've got potatoes on it." He said.

"Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important." She scolded, and I smirked wider from next to Sherlock.

"Why are we doing this? We never do this." He whined.

"We are doing this because Sherlock is home from the hospital and we are all very happy." She said, and I squeezed Sherlock's hand slightly. He knows how worried I've been since he's been away.

"Am I happy, too? I haven't checked." Mycroft just said.

"Mycroft, I will take that peeler and you don't want to know what I will do with it if you don't hush," I warned.

"Someone has put a bullet in my boy, and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous." Mrs. Holmes swore, and I peeked over at Sherlock. He just squeezed my hand back.

He was never going to say who shot him. Least of all to his parents.

When most people had left and it was just Sherlock and me, he set down the newspaper and turned to me.

"I need you to do something for me so you don't seem like an accomplice." He said lowly.

"What?" I asked.

"Drink this. It's drugged, but nothing that will harm you, I swear. It'll just knock you out for a bit." He said and handed me a glass of punch.

"I don't even like punch." I frowned, but took it and took a drink. "Can I know what you're up to?"

"I made a deal with the devil. Magnussen himself." He murmured, then kissed my knuckles.

"Is there any way I can squeeze in a quickie or something before I pass out?" I joked.

"Afraid not. You know I like to take my time." Sherlock said and kissed me slowly. I let my hand meet his cheek, pulling him closer and closer to me where we sat. I let his tongue slip into my mouth, and I enjoyed it until I grew dizzy. Sherlock helped me settle down until I blacked out.

When I awoke again, Mrs. Holmes was dabbing my forehead with a washcloth. "Oh, dear, you're finally awake. Have you any idea what's happened?"

"Sherlock drugged us all. He had business." I slurred my words. "Where is he?"

"Mycroft's just arrested him," Mary said, and I sighed.

"Alright, Mary, let's go get him back." I huffed as I stood up.

It took a few hours to get to the building where Mycroft was keeping him.

"Mycroft, you bring me to him right now," I demanded as John met Mary.

"You have no rights to be seeing him right now," Mycroft said with a cool face.

"You really want me to do it?"

"Do what?" He asked, and I stepped a little closer.

"Get my contacts on you." I threatened. Mycroft didn't do anything, so I took my phone out and called Jim.

"Tell Eurus we're ready for her. Mycroft's being a dick." I said, then heard him laughing before he hung up, and I slid my phone back in my pocket, staring at Mycroft. "You maybe wanna try this again?"

"No," He said and turned away from me.

"Fuck you, Mycroft Holmes!" I yelled and John pulled me away.

It was only a week later when they sentenced him to exile. I went to the runway with Mary and John to see Sherlock off, and the second I stepped out of the car, I was already biting back tears.

"Love, don't cry." Sherlock sighed to me once he had said goodbye to John.

"How the fuck am I not supposed to be crying?" I sniffled as he brushed hair out of my face. "I'll get you back. I'm nowhere near as smart as you, but I'll figure out something to get you back." I promised.

"I'll be with you before you know it." He smiled and dipped down to kiss me. I stood on my tiptoes to reach him easier and threw my hands around his neck to hold him closer.

"I'm always amazed that you truly love me." He chuckled against my lips, making me cry all over again. "Ah, no. I won't have you shedding tears for me."

Sherlock told me he loved me a couple of hundred times before he boarded the plane, and the plane took off. I then took my phone out and called Jim again.

"Is he leaving?" He asked.

"Bring him back," I sniffled, my voice breaking.

"I've got you, honey. We're working on it right now." He promised and hung up.

And I suddenly got a new idea for a novel.


	38. Chapter 38

The plane was coming back. The plane was fucking coming back.

The four of us got onto the plane to find Sherlock making no sense at all.

"Well, a somewhat shorter exile than we'd imagined, brother mine. Hardly adequate, given your levels of OCD." Mycroft said, and I sat next to Sherlock and took his hand.

"I have to go back!" Was all he said. "I was... I was nearly there, I nearly had it."

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Mycroft asked.

"Go back where? You didn't get very far." John was just as confused.

"Ricoletti and his abominable wife, don't you understand?"

"No, of course, we don't. You're not making any sense, Sherlock." Mary said to him.

"It was a case, a famous one, from a hundred years ago. Lodged in my hard drive. She seemed to be dead but then she came back..." Sherlock rambled.

"What, like Moriarty?" John asked as Mycroft glanced at me.

"Shot herself in the head. Exactly like Moriarty."

"But you've only just been told. We've only just found out. He's on every TV screen in the country." Mary sat down.

"Yes, so? It's been only five minutes since Mycroft called. What progress have you made? What have you been doing?" Sherlock asked.

"More to the point, what have you been doing?" John asked, and I zoned out a little as I shifted my hand slightly and took his pulse. It was hammering, going much faster than usual.

I came to a conclusion and looked at Mycroft, who seemed to get the message instantly. "Oh, Sherlock... did you make a list?"

Sherlock then fell quiet and pulled a paper from his coat jacket, dropping it on the floor. John picked it up and looked at it. He then looked at Sherlock in surprise, and Mycroft spoke up.

"We have an agreement, my brother and I, ever since that day. Wherever I find him,  whatever back alley or doss house, there will always be a list."

"He couldn't have taken all of that in the last five minutes," John said, showing Mycroft the list. I didn't care, I was just focused on how disappointed Sherlock looked at the moment.

"He was high before he got on the plane," Mycroft said.

"Didn't seem high," Mary spoke up, staring at her phone.

"Nobody deceives like an addict." Mycroft just stared at Sherlock.

"I'm not an addict, I'm a user. I alleviate boredom and occasionally heighten my thought process." Sherlock spoke slowly.

"For God's sake, this could kill you. You could die." John snapped.

"Controlled usage is not usually fatal and abstinence is not immortality."

"What are you doing?" Mycroft asked very softly to Mary.

"Emilia Ricoletti, I'm looking her up."

"Yes, I suppose we should. I have access to the top level of the MI5 archives." Mycroft said.

"Yeah, that's where I'm looking." She said.

"What do you think of MI5's security?" He asked, and I bit back a laugh.

"I think it would be a good idea," Mary gave him a smile. "Emilia Ricoletti, unsolved, like he says."

"Can you all just shut up for five minutes? I have to go back. Not you, love, you haven't said a word. I was nearly there..." He huffed.

"Sherlock, listen to me."

"No, it only encourages you."

"I'm not angry with you-"

"That's a relief, I was really worried..." Sherlock scoffed. "No, hold on. I really wasn't."

Mycroft just stared at him. "I was there for you before. I'll be there for you again. I'll always be there for you."

Sherlock then passed out suddenly, and I was trying to wake him back up. When he did, Mycroft just had to open his mouth.

"Thought we'd lost you for a moment. May I just check, is this what you mean by controlled usage?"

"Oh, shut up, Mycroft. Jesus." I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Mrs. Emilia Ricoletti, I need to know where she was buried." Was all Sherlock said.

"What? A hundred and twenty years ago?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered Mycroft, then tried to sit up.

"That would take weeks to find, even if those records exist. Even with my resources." Mycroft said.

"Got it." Mary hummed, looking at her phone. So we went to those coordinates, to which John voiced my very thoughts.

"I don't get it. How is this relevant?" He asked Sherlock.

"I need to know I was right, then I'll be sure." He answered.

"You mean how Moriarty did it?"

"Yes."

"But none of that really happened. It was in your head." John said. 

"My investigation was the fantasy, the crime happened exactly as I explained," Sherlock said, leading us through the graveyard.

"The stone was erected by a group of her friends," Mary added randomly.

"Now, what do you think you'll find here?" John asked.

"I need to try." Sherlock snapped at him, and I jumped just a little, making him rub my arm in comfort. We found the stone and Sherlock just stared at it with a shovel in his hands.

"Mrs. Ricoletti was buried here, but what happened to the other one? The corpse they substituted for her after the so-called suicide." Sherlock asked.

"They'd move it. Of course, they would." John answered, not seeing the point.

"But where?"

"Well, not here."

"But that... that's exactly what they must have done. The conspirators had someone on the inside. They found a body just like when Molly Hooper found a body for me when..." Sherlock trailed off at seeing John's face. "Yeah, well, we don't need to go into that all over again, now do we?"

"You're not seriously going to do this?" John asked.

"It's why we came here. I need to know." Sherlock said, looking like John was crazy.

"Spoken like an addict..." John turned away.

"This is important to me."

"No, this is you needing a fix." John turned back to him, and Mary tried to stop him. "Moriarty's back. We have a case. We have a real-life problem, right now."

"Getting to that, it's next on the list. Just let me do this."

"No. Everyone always lets you do whatever you want. That's how you got in this state."

"John, I think that's enough." I snapped, surprising even myself. "Honestly, what's the harm? She's dead."

That made him just stare at me with a blown-out expression. "Spoken like a true sociopath."

"Go home if you want. No one's forcing you to stay here." I stared back at him, crossing my arms. So he and Mary left, and it was Sherlock, Mycroft, Lestrade, and I until nightfall. Once they dug it up and found nothing, the three of us shared a look, wondering if we should stop him now that there was obviously nothing.

Once he decided to go back to Baker Street, I was with him. 

"Sherlock, hang on, explain." John started as we went to the car. "Moriarty's alive, then?"

"I never said he was alive, I said he was back."

"So, he's dead?" Mary asked.

"Of course he's dead. He blew his own brains out. No one survives that. I just went through the trouble of an overdose to prove it."

Oh, just wait until Jim hears about this.


	39. Chapter 39

Sherlock said he knew what Moriarty was going to do next, but he was going to wait for it, he said.

As he was waiting, I was working on the new novel. I was currently working on a series of short stories to publish in one book, but my current situation gave me the perfect idea for a novel.

Someone dating a superhero or something, whilst also helping out the main villain behind the scenes. I had character parallels for Sherlock, myself, John, Jim, even Mary and Mycroft, and Eurus.

Speaking of, I called Jim to meet up and told him how Sherlock is convinced he's dead, which he absolutely cracked up at.

I published a rough draft excerpt of the first chapter on my website and saw people already theorizing it had something to do with the whole Sherlock and Moriarty thing in the news. I even saw one person theorize that I was close to Sherlock in real life from when I said ages ago that I had him sworn to secrecy about my identity.

Fortunately, Sherlock was so focused on Moriarty and waiting that he hardly noticed my work. As far as people knew, this was just another short story. Who knows? Maybe it'll end up being a sort of longer short story for the collection. It might not even be its own book. I just have to see how deep this rabbit hole goes.

I ended up missing Mary giving birth to Rosie because Jim, Eurus, and I were all having a meeting.

"How is he?" Eurus asked.

"He won't get off his fucking phone. He's waiting for something, so if we could mosey this along...?" I asked.

"It's not time yet. We want him to stew a bit." Jim said and I groaned.

"He's driving us all mad. He was fucking texting during a baptism or whatever Christians do with newborns." I rolled my eyes.

"Christening?" Jim asked.

"Whatever, I don't care."

Sherlock then caught wind of a dead boy in a car and a broken bust of Margaret Thatcher. It caught his interest, and now he was waiting all over again at square one. And I was waiting, too, but for something different.

"You're upset." He said once we were finally alone. I didn't answer him and just continued to stare at the wall in hormonal boredom and agitation. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"

I sighed deeply. "We haven't had sex in ages, Sherlock."

"Ages? It's only been about two weeks."

"More like months, honey." I corrected.

Sherlock then looked up and away. "Oh," Was all he said to that. "Well, I... We could... I thought you were busy with your books, is all."

"Oh, nevermind." I huffed and got up to go to our room and just lie and stew.

Sherlock followed me and sat beside where I lay. "Tell me what's really wrong." He said. Realizing the real problem, I began to tear up and I pressed my face into the pillow.

"I was afraid you just didn't want me anymore now that you've found something exciting. I thought you'd gotten bored of me." I sniffed and felt him rub my back. "I'm sorry, I know I'm stupid."

"Love, no. You're not stupid, and you've no reason to be sorry. I have been neglecting you, and I'm sorry about that." He spoke lowly.

I turned over and Sherlock leaned down and kissed me slowly, and it heated up with every second that passed. I looped my arms around his neck, and he shifted to hover over me.

He kissed at the skin of my breasts as his hands slid behind me, and he undid the clasp. I let him take it off me, and his hands came to my chest with his lips, making me shiver.

He quickly had my nipples hard from being in his mouth, and he continued his trail down to my pants. I expected him to stop and take them off before he continued, but he just trailed his mouth over the fabric, making me gasp and tremble a little.

His hands slid down my thighs and to my knees, making me raise my legs, putting my feet on the bed. Sherlock raised himself up and slid both my pants and panties off me, and he looked up at me, his hands just feeling the skin on my inner thighs.

"May I?" He asked, and I was a little touched that he took a moment to ask for consent.

"Yeah." I nodded, biting my lip. I only bit down harder as I watched him lower his head between my thighs, pressing soft kisses over my labia before he parted my lips and licked between them.

My reaction was immediate. I moaned, and my hips raised up slightly from the jolt of pleasure he brought me. It had been too long. Sherlock brought his arms around my thighs, holding me open that way as my legs were parted even more, and he kept licking, flicking his tongue against my clit sometimes. Sherlock slid a finger into me, pad up as I told him, and he pumped it a few times before he curled it inside of me, finding my G spot and he paid it a lot of attention.

I was moaning, biting my lip to try to hold them in, but it was just so... so good. I could not only feel how wet I was, but I could also fucking hear it, too.

"Sherlock..." I moaned, pushing him back a little. "Come on, please? I need you."

Sherlock quickly made me come, then pulled back with a cheeky smile that I knew meant "later".


	40. Chapter 40

"There was once a merchant  In a famous market in Baghdad... I'm just like the merchant in the story. I thought I could outrun the inevitable." I heard an old woman's voice once I caught up with Sherlock at the aquarium.

"I've always been looking over my shoulder. Always expecting to see the grim figure of..."

"Death." Mary came out of nowhere.

"Hello, Mary," Sherlock said.

"Hey, you two."

"John?"

"On his way."

"Let me introduce Ammo." Sherlock then said and Mary looked surprised.

"You were Ammo? You were the person on the phone at that time?"

"Using AGRA as her personal assassination unit."

"Why did you betray us?" Mary hissed.

"Why does anyone do anything?"

"Let me guess." Sherlock started, and I was just focused on the swimming fish, hardly listening. "Selling secrets?"

"It would be churlish to refuse. Worked very well for a few years, I bought a nice cottage in Cornwall on the back of it. But, the ambassador in Tbilisi found out. I thought I'd had it. Then she was taken hostage in that coup." The old woman laughed. "Could not believe my luck, that bought me a little time."

"But then you found out your boss had sent AGRA in." Sherlock surmised and I zoned out, watching a stingray flutter by.

At least until Mary went to attack her, and she pulled a gun.

"I was never a field agent. I always thought I'd be rather good." She said, making Mary scoff.

"Well, you handled the operation in Tbilisi very well... for a secretary," Sherlock said lowly.

"What?"

"Can't have been easy all those years sitting in the back, keeping your mouth shut, when you knew you were cleverer than most of the people in the room." He said.

"I didn't do this out of jealousy."

"No? Same old drudge, day in, day out. Never getting out there where all the excitement was. Just back to your little flat on Wigmore Street. They've taken up the pavement outside the post office there. The local clay on your shoes is very distinctive. Yes, your little flat."

"How do you know?" She asked.

"Well, on your salary, it would have to be modest, and you spent all the money on that cottage, didn't you? And what are you? Widowed or divorced? The wedding ring's at least thirty years old, and you've moved it to another finger. That means you're sentimentally attached to it, but you're not still married. I favor widowed, given the number of cats you share your life with. Two Burmese and a tortoiseshell, judging by the cat hairs on your cardigan. A divorcee's more likely to look for a new partner. A widow to fill the void left by her dead husband. Pets do that, or so I'm told. And there's clearly no one new in your life, otherwise, you wouldn't be spending your Friday nights in an aquarium. That probably accounts for the drink problem, too. The slight tremor in your hand. The red wine stain ghosting your top lip. So yes, I'd say jealousy was your motive, after all."

Then people came in. "To prove how good you are. To make up for the inadequacies of your little life."

"Well, Mrs. Norbury," Mycroft started slowly. "I must admit, this is unexpected."

"Vivian Norbury. You outsmarted them all. All except Sherlock Holmes." He then held his hand out. "There's no way out."

"So it would seem." She said, and I just knew what was coming next.

"Sherlock, her gun," I warned just as she raised it and fired at Sherlock.

But then Mary had to go and jump in front of him, taking the bullet herself. Sherlock and I immediately dropped to her sides, and he began telling her that everything was fine.

Wasn't it also Sherlock who told John that telling patients they were going to be fine wouldn't help them at all? And now here he was, telling Mary she was going to be okay. Look at all that character development. John came and Sherlock ordered Mycroft to get an ambulance, so Sherlock and I stepped back to let Mary and John be.

"Hey, Sherlock?" She cried. "I so like you. Did I ever say?"

"Yes, yes, you did." Sherlock nodded, looking like he was holding back tears.

"Briar? Look after the boys, will you?" She sniffled.

"Of course, Mary." I nodded, blinking away tears myself, though I didn't really feel sad for some reason. Really, I couldn't understand why John wasn't doing anything. He was an army doctor, he's trained for this. Shouldn't he be lying her down and tying tourniquets or whatever they do in the army? Instead, he's just letting her bleed out there. Something wasn't adding up here, alright?

"Being Mary Watson... was the only life... worth living... thank you..." Mary said and fell silent and still. John began crying and screaming, then he glared at Sherlock.

"Don't you dare," He started when Sherlock opened his mouth. "You made a vow."

"John!" I gasped at him. How fucking dare he blame this on Sherlock.

"He swore it!"

"This is in no way his fault!" I glared at him. "Look, you're grieving, and that's good, that's okay. But don't you dare start blaming people other than the person who pulled the trigger." I hissed.

But John didn't listen, of course. How could he? The man's just lost his wife.

I expect we wouldn't be hearing much from him lately.


	41. Chapter 41

Mrs. Hudson and I have been keeping an eye on Baker Street, and Sherlock has been acting rather odd lately. We crept up the stairs as he was shouting.

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, or close the wall up with our English dead! Set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, hold hard the breath and build up every spirit to his full height. On, on, you noblest English, whose blood is fet from fathers from war-proof! And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture! I doubt not, for there is none of you here so mean and base that hath not noble luster in your eyes! I see you standing like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start!"

"He is higher than a fucking rocketship..." I murmured to Mrs. Hudson.

"I don't think he can get any higher." She whispered back.

I hated seeing him like this. Hated it, I hated it. He looked just like my father, and I wanted nothing to do with this.

He then saw us after shooting the wall and had the nerve to ask for a cup of tea.

"...I'll be waiting downstairs. We're taking my car." I said, and she nodded. So I put on a pair of heels and got my Coach bag, then got down with the trunk open so the boys from the restaurant could shove Sherlock in. They dropped him twice, but we made it to John's nonetheless, with police following.

I had MCR blasting and when we got out, Mrs. Hudson handed the phone to a police officer. 

"What's going on? What's happened?" John asked us.

"It's Sherlock." I sighed.

"You've no idea what I've been through." Mrs. Hudson hugged him, and he just looked so confused.

"Did you call the police?" John asked, letting us in, and I gave a smile to his therapist... who looked a little like Eurus, so I stared at her, then got it once she gave me a wink.

Fucking Eurus Holmes...

"You need to see him, John. You need to help him."

"Nope."

"He needs you!"

"Somebody else," John said. "Not me. Not now."

"Now, you just listen to me for once in your stupid life. I know Mary's dead and I know your heart is broken. But if Sherlock Holmes dies too, who'll you have then? Because I'll tell you something, John Watson. You will not have me." She said firmly, then left to go cry on my car, leaving just Eurus and me.

"What is going on here? Why are you here?" I asked.

"I'm getting to know John Watson." She said without the German accent. "Is he always so predictable?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"You seem upset. Are you upset?" She asked, her head tilting slightly.

"I am pissed off at your brother." I crossed my arms.

"Sherlock?"

"For going on this binge. He knows I fucking hate hard drugs. And what has he done? Gone on this cocaine binge is what. Fucking cocaine, heroin, morphine... Lord knows what else." I sighed.

"The woman is out of control! I asked for a cup of tea!" Sherlock's voice sounded, and I sighed. Eurus went back into character, and I was so close to getting in my car and just going home.

"How did you get him in the boot?" John asked.

"The boys from the cafe."

"They dropped me. Twice!" Sherlock shouted, walking in and drinking from a vase.

"And you know why they dropped you, dear? Because they know you." Mrs. Hudson said.

"Who's this one?" He pointed to Eurus, and I pinched my lips together. "Is this a new person? I'm against new people."

"She's my therapist," John said.

"Awesome. Do you do block bookings?" Sherlock said and came over to me. He tried to give me a kiss, but I held my hand out and held him back.

"Don't even think about it." I hissed as Eurus went to John to give him his phone.

"What?" He looked confused.

"How did you know? How?" John snapped, making both Sherlock and I jump. "On Monday I decided to get a new therapist. Tuesday afternoon, I chose her. Wednesday morning, I booked today's session. Now, today is Friday, so two weeks ago, two weeks, before you were abducted at gunpoint and brought here against your will, over a week before I even thought of coming here, you knew exactly where you'd need to be picked up for lunch?"

"Really?" Sherlock asked. " I correctly anticipated the responses of people I know well to scenarios I devised. Can't everyone do that?"

"How?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Except the boot. The boot was mean."

"Never mind how, he's dying to tell us that. I want to know why." John hissed.

"Because Mrs. Hudson's right." Sherlock looked away. "I'm burning up.  I'm at the bottom of a pit and I'm falling and I'm never climbing out. I need you to know, John. I need you to see that up here, I've still got it. So, when I tell you that  This is the most dangerous, the most despicable human being that I have ever encountered. When I tell you that this monster must be ended. Please remember where you're standing, because you're standing exactly where I said you would be two weeks ago." Sherlock said and sat down again.

"I'm a mess, I'm in hell, but I am not wrong, not about him." He pointed to a picture of Culverton Smith... just like Jim said.

"So what has all this got to do with me?" John asked.

"That creature, that rotting thing is a living, breathing coagulation of human evil. If the only thing I ever do in this world is drive him out of it, then my life will not have been wasted." Sherlock said, and John didn't say a word.

"Look at me. Can't do it. Not alone. Not now."

"You've got Briar."

"She hates me right now."

"And I don't?" John said, and I kept my head down, very aware of Eurus studying me.

They soon were preparing to leave, and Sherlock came over to me, and Eurus turned away.

"Kiss for good luck?" He asked and I rolled my eyes and gave him a quick kiss.

"God, you piss me off," I said softly, and Sherlock only gave me a smile before he walked out of the house.

"So do you have any idea what he's doing?" She asked.

"Not a fucking clue." I sighed and crossed my arms. Footsteps came from upstairs and Jim suddenly appeared. "Of course you're here, too." I hummed.

"What? It's my house." He shrugged. "I'm letting little E here use it for her sessions with Dr. Watson. You really don't know why Sherlock is using again?"

"Not in the slightest." I shook my head. "It seems to be random this time, and it's never, ever random. There's always a trigger or something. Somewhere, there was a trigger, and I missed it, and now he's fucking himself over." I grit my teeth.

"Look, how about you go and work on your novel, take a break? You're too stressed?" Jim held my shoulders, and I just nodded. He kissed my forehead and sent me on my way.


	42. Chapter 42

It was a whole night before John and Mycroft were over.

"What's going on?"

"Sherlock turned our kitchen into a meth lab." I rolled my eyes. "Called some people to come to clean it up." I nodded to Mycroft.

"I'm trying to establish what exactly drove Sherlock off the rails. Any ideas?" Mycroft asked.

"Why fixate on Culverton Smith?  He's had his obsessions before, of course, but this goes a bit further than setting a man trap for Father Christmas. Spending all night talking to a woman who wasn't even there." Mycroft said.

"Mycroft, last time when we were on the phone, you said the fact that you were his brother made no difference." John started, and I was seeing where this was going. "You said it didn't the last time, and it wouldn't with Sherlock. So who was it the last time? Who are you talking about?"

"...Sherlock's not your only brother. There's another one, isn't there?" John then laughed. "Jesus, a secret brother. What, is he locked up in a tower or something?"

Or something.

"Mycroft Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson chastised. "What are these dreadful people doing in my house?"

I guess I wouldn't mention that I called, then.

"Mrs. Hudson, I apologize for the interruption. As you know my brother has embarked on a program of self-destruction, remarkable even by his standards, and I'm endeavoring to find out what triggered it."

You and me both, buddy.

"And that's what you're looking for?"

"Quite so."

"What's on his mind?"

"So to speak."

"And you've had all this time?"

"Time being something of which we don't have an infinite supply. So, if we could be about our business." He said, and Mrs. Hudson began giggling madly.

"You're so funny, you are! He thinks you're clever, poor old Sherlock. Always going on about you. I mean, he knows you're an idiot, but that's okay because you're a lovely doctor. And Briar, dear, you're only so book smart, so it seems. But he has no idea what an idiot you are!" She went on.

"Is this merely stream of consciousness abuse, or are you attempting to make a point?"

"You want to know what's bothering Sherlock? Easiest thing in the world, anyone can do it." She said, and I got it and moved over to stand in front of the mantle.

"I know his thought process better than any other human being," Mycroft said.

"He's not about thinking. Not Sherlock. No, he's more emotional, isn't he? An unsolved case, shoot the wall. Unmade breakfast, karate the fridge. Unanswered questions... what's he do, John? Every time?"

"Stabs it?" I said and lifted the knife before John could even breathe. The paper under was an envelope that said MISS ME? right on top, and my lips parted in surprise.

Jim didn't... he would have told me...

I put the disc into the TV, and Mary's face popped up.

"I'm giving you a case, Sherlock. Might be the hardest case of your career. When I'm gone, if I'm gone, I need you to do something for me. Save John Watson. Save him. Sherlock, save him. Don't think anyone else is going to save him because there isn't anyone. It's up to you. Save him. By do you think you're going to need a little bit of help with that because you're not exactly good with people. So here are a few things you need to know about the man we both love. And more importantly, what you're going to need to do to save him. John Watson never accepts help, not from anyone. Not ever, but here's the thing, he never refuses it. So, here's what you are going to do. You can't save John, because he won't let you. He won't allow himself to be saved. The only way to save John is to make him save you. Go to hell, Sherlock. Go right into hell. And make it look like you mean it. Go and pick a fight with a bad guy, put yourself in harm's way. If he thinks you need him, I swear... he will be there."

So John and I took my car and I drove as fast as I could to his hospital, and when we got to the room, the door was jammed. John got a fire extinguisher and bust open the door, where we saw Smith over Sherlock, and Sherlock was nearly purple in the face.

"Mr. Holmes, you okay?" A guard said.

"What were you doing to him? What were you doing?!" John got Smith in a headlock.

"He's in distress, I'm helping him!"

"Restrain him now, do it," John ordered the guard. "Sherlock, what was he doing to you?"

"Suffocating me." He answered. "Overdosing me."

"On what?" John asked, going over to the bag.

"Saline,"

"Saline? What do you mean saline?"

"Well, obviously, I got Nurse Cornish to switch the bags. She's a big fan, you know." Sherlock said breathlessly.

"You're okay?" John asked.

"No, of course, I'm not okay. Malnourished, double kidney failure, and frankly, I've been off my tits for weeks. What kind of doctor are you?" Sherlock asked. "I got my confession though, didn't I?"

Once they removed Smith, I left my place on the wall and went over and hugged Sherlock tightly. He sighed and hugged me back, rubbing my back when he heard me sniffling.

"Why are you crying? I'm going to be fine."

"You could've died! You could've died and my last words to you would've been, 'you piss me off.'" I sniffled, and Sherlock pulled back to wipe my cheeks.

"I know you meant it with love." He said softly.

"Sherlock, you scared the hell out of me. I... we saw Mary's recording, we know why you did it. But that was for John, not me. You couldn't have told me what you were doing? I thought..." I then bit my lip to shut myself up.

"You thought?"

"I thought you were turning into my dad," I said weakly and was reduced to tears again.

"Love, no. You know I'd never become anything like that. I had it under control." He said.

"Never again, you hear me? Never a-fucking-gain." I said, trying to be stern.

"Yes, ma'am. Can I have a kiss now?" He whined, making me smile, and I threw my arms around him and kissed him as hard as I could without hurting him further.


	43. Chapter 43

Jim came and picked me up to bring me to Eurus on the island.

"This is a bad idea. Mycroft is here. John is here. Fucking... Sherlock is here!" I huffed, all made up and looking expensive anyway.

"That's the point." Jim gave me a smile. "It's over. This is the final problem, Briar."

We stayed in the room with Eurus, watching on as the three went through puzzle after puzzle. Getting Molly to say that she loves Sherlock hit a little too close to home for me. But what could I do to stop Eurus? Nothing.

It was only after Sherlock threatened to shoot himself that she knocked them all out with tranquilizers, and three of them while up before us in a room, separated from us by a glass wall.

"Briar?" John asked, sounding and looking confused as Sherlock squinted to see me next to Jim and Eurus. "Moriarty's alive? And you're working with them?"

"Yes," I nodded as Sherlock stood up. "Don't judge me too quickly, I have my reasons."

"Like what?" John asked quickly as Sherlock just stared at me, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Like making sure Sherlock stays busy. Making sure he had things to do so he doesn't start using again. It's worked, hasn't it?" I smiled a little.

"So you've known that Moriarty was alive all this time?" John asked.

"Had to keep family in the loop." Jim nodded, putting his arm around my shoulders. "Mycroft, you're not saying much. Ah, I suppose you don't need to ask questions, though. You've known forever." He shrugged.

Sherlock turned to his brother. "You've known? How long?"

"Ages," I answered. "He was here when I first met Eurus."

"You knew I had a sister before I did..." Sherlock shook his head. "And you didn't tell me?"

"How could I have? I'd have ruined everything." I shook my head.

Sherlock was quiet, just staring at me. He looked disappointed and hurt. It killed me to see the look in his eyes.

"I think we should give the two a minute. Mycroft, Dr. Watson, if you could move into the next room." Jim said, and a door opened. They all left us be, and Sherlock took a shaky breath as I came forward to him.

"You know I love you," I started slowly. "You know I'd never do anything to hurt you. I'm helping you, Sherlock, love."

"Helping me how?" Sherlock laughed, then teared up, and looked away.

"By giving you cases."

"By telling Moriarty when I was getting bored so he could blow up something for me to solve." He sniffed.

"It's not as bad as you think. You're fine with me spying on you for Mycroft. I was doing just the same for Jim."

"You call him Jim?"

"He's my cousin, for fuck's sake. I can call him Jim." I rolled my eyes, then sighed. "Tell me you don't hate me."

Sherlock just stared at me then, not answering. I bit my lip to stop it from wobbling, and I looked at my feet. I didn't even want to think about what might happen if he hated me. I wouldn't know what to do with myself, I had dedicated so much of my life to him.

"I still love you," Sherlock said, and I looked up. I quickly opened the door and went in to hug him tightly. The door closed behind me, but I didn't care.

"I love you so much, you know?" I sniffed and felt Sherlock hold me in place against him. "I don't know what I would do without you," I admitted.

Sherlock kissed my head and held me even closer. I closed my eyes and just relaxed against him.

"What would you do if I asked you to prove that you were truly on my side?" Sherlock asked in that low voice of his.

"Anything," I sniffed.

"Would you marry me?" He asked and I froze. "Would you marry me to prove to me that you will always stick by my side? That you love me most in the world? That even though you may work with Jim Moriarty, I'm your first priority?"

"Yes," I said quickly. "If that's what you want, then yes."

Sherlock licked his lips and sighed. "I do love you, Briar. Promise. But this... working with him and my sister, I just feel... betrayed." He sighed.

"I'm sorry. I swear I was only thinking of you. You know how you get when you get bored, I was just keeping you from getting bored."

He pressed his lips together and sighed, still holding me close to him. "This arrangement might actually work out." He decided. "You are just not going to tell anyone. You'll tell John you're done with Moriarty, family or not. He'll buy it. Moriarty can know for all I care. But you only contact him if there's truly nothing going on and I begin to get bored."

I nodded deciding this was okay.


End file.
